


Look What Love Has Done

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, During Canon, Established Relationship, Humor, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-05
Updated: 2007-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-03 18:12:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 118,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8724925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Sam's jeans start to fit a little tighter, and it's all downhill from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Series Title:** Look What Love Has Done 1/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** Sam's jeans start to fit a little tighter, and it's all downhill from there  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_  
 

Thanks to my beta [ ](http://calicokat.livejournal.com/profile)[**calicokat**](http://calicokat.livejournal.com/). Wow, a 94% in English and I still made you do all that work.  
  
Thanks to [ ](http://teamane.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://teamane.livejournal.com/)**teamane** for making the header I use at the beginning of the chapter.

 

Sam would have liked to be able to say that he woke up due to an alarm clock, or the sun coming in through the window, or hell, even Dean snoring or talking in his sleep. But of course not, that’d be too easy. It _had_ to be Dean singing in the shower.  
  
“Christ,” Sam muttered, and rolled over onto his side, sticking his head under a pillow. It only dulled the noise a bit, and it was kind of hard to breathe under there, so Sam abandoned that idea, and just lay there, accepting the fact that he was now awake, and there’d be no getting back to sleep.  
  
The shower shut off, and Sam heard Dean get out, and the bathroom door opened only seconds later. “Morning Sam,” Dean said, going to his bag. “What’s your problem? That’s not a very attractive look you’ve got going on there.”  
  
“Pissed off?” Sam asked, sitting up. “Well, I wouldn’t look like this if someone wasn’t singing in the goddamn shower at eight in the morning.”  
  
Dean dropped his towel and began drying his legs, running the cloth up and down the golden skin. “You’re a morning person. In fact, you’re more of a morning person than me. So imagine how pissed off _I_ was when I woke up to someone drooling on my chest.”  
  
Sam blushed, and looked down at his hands. “I don’t drool.”  
  
“Like hell you don’t,” Dean snapped, pulling on his boxers. “Now come on, get up. Or do I have to drag you out of bed today?”  
  
“Where exactly do we need to be, Dean?” Sam asked, not getting out of bed. “We’re finished in this town, I can stay in bed as long as I want today.”   
  
“No, you can’t,” Dean said, pulling his shirt over his head, “we’re leaving. Well, I am, and if you want to come with, you are too.”  
  
Sam groaned and rolled over on the bed, always restless when he’s just woken up. “Dean, come on, please? I don’t wanna sit in a car all day. I don’t think I feel very well.”  
  
Dean finished buckling his belt, then walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge. He brushed Sam’s hair away from his eyes. “You okay? You gonna be sick or something?”  
  
Sam looked up at Dean, eyes squinting in the sun that was filtering in from the window. “I don’t know. Kind of like, it feels like when I get car sick, but I haven’t been in a car.”  
  
Dean sighed, then leaned down and kissed Sam’s forehead, then his lips. “Well… fine. Okay? We’ll stay, but just until you feel better. And you better not be faking.” Dean stood up, and began taking off his jeans.  
  
“Whoa whoa,” Sam said, raising his hands, “I just said I’m sick. I’m not having sex with you right now.”  
  
Dean kicked off his jeans, then chucked off his t-shirt. “Are you kidding? You just said you’re sick; I’m not getting infected with your diseases. I’m going back to bed; it’s eight o’clock.”  
  
Sam groaned and rolled over to the other side of the bed, making room for Dean. Dean curled up against Sam’s side, his head on Sam’s chest, hand fanned out just above his belly button. “Love you, Sammy.”  
  
Sam yawned, and nodded. “Love you too. Now go back to sleep, please.”  
  
Dean pressed a kiss to just above Sam’s nipple, then laid back down. “I’ll try, but someone better not start drooling again.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean knocked on the bathroom door when he walked back into the room after going out for food. “Sam, you in there?”  
  
“Where else would I be, Dean?” Sam called back, and Dean could hear the snark in his voice. “I’ll be out in a minute.”  
  
“Ooookay.” Dean walked over to the small hotel table and opened his Happy Meal bag. “Hey Sam, free Johnny Depp toy!”  
  
“That’s nice!” And then Dean heard retching from behind the door.   
  
“Hey Sam, are you sure you’re okay?”  
  
The toilet flushed, the sink turned on, then the door opened. Sam appeared in the room, still not dressed, still in his t-shirt and boxers. “Yeah, I’m fine. It must just be some flu, or something. I’ll be fine. What’d you get for food?”  
  
“McDonalds,” Dean answered, waving his tiny Pirates of the Caribbean toy at his brother. “I skipped the happy meal for you--, just got you fries, burger, you know, boring old people stuff.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, then sat down. He unwrapped his burger, and sniffed at it, taking one bite, before his stomach lurched. “Oh shit.”  
  
Dean put down his toy for a minute to peer at Sam over the large McDonalds bag in the middle of the table. “Sam? Are you--”  
  
Sam pushed his chair back and ran into the bathroom with no time to close the door before he threw up again.  
  
Dean leaned forward to see if Sam was okay. “You need any help in there?” A muffled no, and Dean was back playing with his toy, using Sam’s fries as its sword. “I’m Captain Jack, you’ll give me back my ship!”   
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“You got everything?” Dean asked the next morning, poking Sam as his brother got dressed.  
  
“Everything’s in the bags, Dean,” Sam answered, sounding annoyed. “Are these yours?”  
  
Dean looked at Sam. “My what?”  
  
Sam turned to Dean, rolling his eyes. “These jeans. Are they yours?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “How come, don’t fit?”  
  
“No, they-- they do, but they’re usually loose,” Sam answered, buckling his belt. “Weird. Your sure they aren’t yours?”  
  
Dean nodded, and grabbed his duffel off the floor. “Yes, I’m sure fatty, now come on, I wanna get out of here. Maybe leaving will do some good for your stomach too.”  
  
Sam grabbed his duffel, and smacked Dean on the back of the head. “I’m not fat! Still more muscle than you.”  
  
Dean closed the door behind them, and gave his bag to Sam to throw in the back. “Well, maybe your abs are like, getting bigger,” he chuckled to himself. “Or your dick is.”  
  
“Christ,” Sam muttered, getting in the passenger seat. “It’s always my dick with you, isn’t it?”  
  
Dean smirked and raised an eyebrow as he turned the key in the ignition. “It is a nice dick, porker.”  
  
“Dean!” Sam snapped. “Stop it, geez. I’m not fat.” He settled into his seat, and, watching Dean out of the corner of his eye, lifted his hoodie off his stomach, looking at the skin underneath.   
  
“Sam, what the hell are you doing?” Dean yelled in surprise. “Keep your shirt on in the car.”  
  
“That’s not what you said last week,” Sam muttered, still inspecting his stomach. It wasn’t his muscles, he _had_ put on weight, as in fat. “Dean, how am I gaining weight? I’ve thrown everything up that I’ve eaten in the past two days.”  
  
Dean shrugged, then glanced down at Sam’s stomach. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re like the woman on Dr. Phil, sleep-eating.”  
  
Sam raised his head and looked at Dean in complete and utter disbelief. “A: I don’t sleep-eat. I couldn’t get out of that bed with you sprawled all over me if I wanted. And B: why do you watch Dr. Phil? I mean, if Oprah wasn’t bad enough…”  
  
“Oprah is a god, Sam,” Dean told him, “and I will not have you bad-mouth her.”  
  
“Oh god,” Sam muttered, dropping his hoodie, flattening the fabric. “Well, that’s nice Dean. Good to know you have idols other than Dad.”  
  
“Sam,” Dean said warningly. “How many times do we have to talk about Dad?”  
  
“Dean, he left us in the hospital!” Sam reminded him. “You were in a coma, I had a broken leg, and he left, the second he was cleared to.”  
  
“He had to go after the demon!” Dean protested, hands gripping the steering wheel tight, almost white-knuckled. “He did it for us Sam, he did it for the best.”  
  
Sam groaned in disbelief, and smacked the dashboard. “We haven’t seen him in almost six months, Dean! He fucking abandoned us!”  
  
Dean swerved the car off the road, pulling to a stop on the dirt. “He didn’t abandon us, Sam. He’s fighting.”  
  
Sam shook his head, and closed his eyes, trying to calm down. “Just drive, Dean. Just drive.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
They were sleeping in their car, hours after their fight. They had the money for a motel room, but unfortunately, all the motels in the town were full. Dean was sleeping in the back, three plaid shirts as a pillow; Sam was in the front, sitting up, getting a crick in his neck. Sam awoke slowly, taking in his surroundings, remembering the long drive of the day. Suddenly, he was hit with a hunger. Pickles. No! Peanut Butter. No. Pickles and peanut butter. He turned in his seat and hit Dean, trying to wake him up. “Dean!”  
  
Dean stirred, but just burrowed further into the seat.   
  
“Dean!” Sam tried again, this time, smacking Dean’s ass.  
  
“What?” Dean snapped, rolling on the seat to face his brother.   
  
“I’m hungry,” Sam said softly, hair falling in his eyes.   
  
“Oh fuck, you did _not_ wake me up to tell me that,” Dean said angrily, and tiredly. “Take the keys, drive somewhere. Get food. Shut up.” And with that, he shut his eyes.   
  
“You have the keys,” Sam reminded him.  
  
After much grumbling and groaning, Dean moved from the back up to the front, head falling forward every couple seconds from sleepiness. “Tired.” They drove to a tiny corner market that was open 24 hours. Sam climbed out of the car, making sure he had his wallet, and walked in.  
  
Dean had almost fallen asleep draped over the wheel, when Sam came back out, a jar of peanut butter and a plastic spoon in hand. “What the-”  
  
Sam sniffled, then shovelled a spoonful into his mouth.   
  
“Sam, Sam, are you crying? And are you crazy?” Dean asked, leaning back in the seat, awake now.  
  
Sam nodded, and sniffled again, burrowing down into his seat. “No pickles.”  
  
“No-- no pickles? So you got peanut butter? Quite the leap ther--”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No pickles _for_ my peanut butter.”  
  
Dean stared at Sam, watching him practically inhale half a jar of peanut butter. “I’m sorry, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.”  
  
Sam visibly gagged, and Dean was thisclose to telling Sam to get out of his car, because there’s no way he’s puking in here, but he just kept eating the peanut butter. “Why don’t they have any pickles?” Sam asked, gripping the white plastic spoon tightly. “What the _fuck_ kind of convenience store doesn’t sell pickles?” He started to cry again, and looked over at Dean, tears streaming.  
  
It’s pretty pathetic looking, Dean thought, but he leaned over and pulled Sam in for an awkward hug, not exactly sure what was wrong with his brother, but anything to shut him up. “Shh, Sammy, don’t cry, it’s okay. I’m sure they’re just sold out. It’ll be okay. Eat your peanut butter.”  
  
Well, if _that_ wasn’t a sentence Dean never thought he’d say.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
It was a couple of weeks later, before Sam had another craving. It came right after Sam couldn’t get his pants to button. After he cried for a bit, he demanded dry Mr. Noodles, sprinkled in tuna fish. When Dean came back to the hotel room, Sam was shirtless, examining himself in the bathroom mirror, rubbing his stomach.  
  
“Sam?” Dean asked, peeking around the corner into the bathroom.  
  
“Look at me,” Sam said softly, glancing up at Dean. “What’s happening to me?”  
  
Dean dropped the plastic bag by the door, and walked into the bathroom, wrapping his arms around Sam. “I don’t know,” Dean admitted, kissing Sam’s shoulder, and he covered Sam’s hand with his own. They rubbed his stomach together. “I don’t mean to be rude or anything Sam, but you do eat a lot more. Maybe you’re just putting on weight. It’s okay.”  
  
Sam shook his head, and his eyes filled with tears. “There’s something in me, Dean.”  
  
“Something like what?” Dean asked, looking at Sam’s reflection in the mirror, then down at Sam’s stomach.   
  
Sam’s tears spilled over, and he let go of his stomach. He dropped quickly to the floor, his head in his hands, sobbing loudly.  
  
Dean dropped to the floor beside him. “Shh, Sammy, don’t cry,” Dean whispered, trying to comfort Sam. He wrapped his arms around Sam, and Sam turned into him, crying into his chest, tears soaking his shirt. “Please don’t cry. Tell me what’s wrong.”  
  
“I think I’m pregnant,” Sam said softly, tears stopping for a moment.  
  
The entire world stopped at that moment, and Dean just stared at Sam. “Pregnant?”  
  
Sam nodded, and resumed crying, leaving Dean frozen in his place, staring down at Sam’s stomach.  
 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Sammy,” Dean said softly after Sam finally calmed down. “You can’t, what I mean is, I don’t think it’s pos--”  
  
“I know Dean!” Sam snapped, pulling away from Dean so they were sitting apart, Sam glaring at Dean. “I _know_ , okay? You don’t think I thought to myself that this isn’t possible, that men just don’t fucking get pregnant? I thought about it, Dean! And believe me, I think I am.” He took a deep breath, and he was staring at his feet, as if they were more interesting than a pregnant man.   
  
“Sam,” Dean said, just to say it, just to let his brother know he was still there. He reached out his hand to rub Sam’s shoulder, but Sam just flinched, and backed away from Dean’s touch. “Sam?”  
  
“Don’t touch me,” he replied, not looking at Dean. “How can you touch me now?”  
  
“Because I love you,” Dean answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. To him, it was. He stood up, and looked down, offering his hand to Sam. “Come on, you must be hungry. Let’s get you something.”  
  
Sam stared up at him, nose red and puffy, eyes completely blood-shot, cheeks stained with tears, and it almost broke Dean’s heart to have to see the man he loved looking like that. Sam took a deep breath, then took Dean’s hand, allowing himself to be pulled up.  
  
Dean put his arm around Sam’s shoulder lightly, not wanting to scare him off. They walked slowly out of the bathroom, Sam taking small steps with his long legs. Dean led them to the bed closest to the bathroom door, and he sat them down. “I got your uh, noodles and tuna. If you-- I don’t know if you still want it or not, but it’s there,” he managed to stutter out.   
  
Sam looked at Dean, and gave a small smile, nodding. “Yeah.”  
  
Dean smiled largely, not expecting Sam to want anything to eat right then. “Yeah? Okay then, let’s see what we got.” He reached down and grabbed the white plastic bag, setting it on his lap. He pulled out two packages of Mr. Noodles, and then one can of tuna. “Is this, are they okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, and took the food from Dean, opening the bag of Mr. Noodles. He silently offered the open bag up to Dean as he popped the top of the tiny can of tuna in the other hand.  
  
Dean shook his head, then thought for a moment, and stuck his hand in the bag, breaking off a piece of noodle. “No tuna, thanks.”  
  
Sam used his fingers to carefully scoop out tuna. He placed it a large piece of dry noodle, which he then bit into. He moaned in delight, and wiped his mouth. “Are you sure you don’t want the tuna?”  
  
Dean looked at his brother’s mouth chewing, then the can of tuna, and swallowed hard. “N-no, I’m…yeah, I’m good.” He smiled and shook his head as Sam got his fill of tuna and noodle, looking around the room. “So, you feel better?”  
  
“Much better,” Sam said, mouth full, leaning to the side and bumping Dean’s shoulder playfully. “Thanks to the tuna. Which you got for me.” He leaned in to kiss Dean in thanks, but Dean could smell the tuna and ducked his head, so Sam’s lips landed on his cheek instead. Sam pulled back, and looked at Dean in horror, eyes filling to the brim with tears again. “I told you, I’m disgusting! You can’t touch me!”  
  
Dean turned to Sam and grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to shake him out of it. “No Sam, don’t start crying again, it’s just the tuna! It’s just the tuna. I just don’t like the tuna. I still love you.”  
  
Sam looked at Dean hopefully. “Really? You still love me?”  
  
“Of course,” Dean assured him, bringing Sam in for an actual kiss, ignoring the taste of tuna filling his mouth. He slipped his tongue into Sam’s mouth, fighting the urge to gag on the tuna, knowing that wouldn’t be exactly good for Sam’s ego right then. He broke the kiss, pulling back only enough so that their lips weren’t touching, but their breath mixed together, noses pressing together, and Sam smiled against Dean’s lips.   
  
“I love you,” he said softly, kissing the tip of Dean’s nose.  
  
“I love you too, Sammy,” Dean answered.  
  
They pulled apart, and Sam looked around the room, trying to find a clock, before scooping more tuna onto his noodles. “What time is it?” he mumbled.  
  
Dean checked his watch. “Uh, seven.”  
  
“At night?” Sam asked in disbelief. “But I’m so tired.” He dropped his tuna and noodles, and stretched, a yawn loud going along with it. “I shouldn’t be this tired.”  
  
Dean stood up off the bed, giving Sam room to bring his legs up onto the bed. “Just take a nap. Sleep as long as you can, okay? It couldn’t hurt.”  
  
Sam nodded, biting back another yawn, and grabbed at the blankets, trying to cover himself.  
  
“Let me,” Dean offered softly, fixing the blankets around Sam and giving him another pillow. He knelt beside the bed, eye to eye with Sam. “You comfy?”  
  
Sam nodded, eyelids already drooping. He lifted a hand to brush his palm against Dean’s cheek, brushing against the stubble there. “Tired.”  
  
“Shh,” Dean whispered, and pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “Go to sleep.” He stood up and walked across the room, going to the laptop. Dean was sure that this obviously, wasn’t a normal pregnancy, but he decided to go the net for help anyway. The symptoms for women were just going to have to apply to Sam for now too. “Most moodiness flares up at around six to ten weeks...six to ten weeks?” He glanced back at Sam, who looked peaceful for once. “Damn, he sure is…along.” He went back to the screen. “Heartburn, fatigue, and frequent urination. You may be feeling unattractive in your own or your partner's eyes.” He took another glance at Sam. “Well hot damn Sam, you’re just a regular housewife over here.”  
  
Getting an idea, Dean went back to Google and typed in ‘male pregnancy demon’. “Let’s see what we got here. Anime, pregnant men sightings…pregnancy fetishism? What the--?” He had to click on that link. “Pregnancy fetishism is a sexual fetish for women who are or appear pregnant. If the belly is bigger, it will cause more arousal, similarly like the size of a woman’s breasts.” Dean shuddered and closed his eyes, trying to get that particular image out of his mind. “Thank god I’m a leg man.”  
  
Sam whimpered in his sleep behind him, but Dean ignored it, he was used to Sam making weird noises in his sleep. Going back to Google, he typed in ‘male pregnancy succubus’, and got nothing that said the male was ever the one that got pregnant.  
  
‘Male pregnancy Lillith’, and it was the same thing. Finally, it hit Dean. Of course a succubus or Lillith wouldn’t get a guy pregnant. “Male pregnancy…incubus.” Aha! “A demon in male form supposed to lie upon sleepers, especially on women in order to have sexual intercourse with them.” He glanced back at Sam again, wondering if this is what happened to him. “Especially on women…not only.”   
  
He turned off the laptop, then grabbed his cell phone off the table, and speed-dialled John’s phone. “Uh, yeah, hi Dad. I know we haven’t talked, but there’s this thing. I think a demon did something to Sam. But don’t worry. We’ll go see Bobby or something, he’ll probably know. I just wanted to let you know. Okay, bye.” He turned off his phone, dropping it back to the table. He wasn’t tired, but without Sam awake, there wasn’t much he could do in the room. He wasn’t seriously considering leaving Sam alone now.  
  
Dean slid down in his chair, fiddling with the ring on his finger, when he got another idea. Maybe it wasn’t a demon at all. He turned the computer back on and went straight back to Google. He just typed in ‘male pregnancy’, and there it was: False Pregnancy in a Male. Coexistence of delusions and infestation of a male. He read softly aloud to himself.   
  
“A thirty-three-year-old merchant marine seaman was treated because he felt he was pregnant. He described symptoms not unlike those of a pregnant female.   
  
As for the diagnosis of the patient, only an impression is ventured at this time: a developing schizophrenic process, paranoid in type.   
  
A psychodynamic formulation was attempted, with homosexuality as the nuclear conflict. Of the three motivational components of homosexuality--sex, power, and dependency--the sexual component appeared the weakest in this patient. He identified with strong male figures in an unconscious effort to appropriate their strength. His struggle for power coupled with his conflict over socially unacceptable sexual interests pushed him into a delusion of grandeur as a specific self-reparative effort. The despised one would become the chosen one.  
  
His symptoms began to subside after two months of treatment, and in four months he was almost free of symptoms.”  
  
Dean thought for a moment, then gulped. “Sammy.” Dean sighed, and closed the laptop again, dropping his head into his hands. “Christ, Sammy.” Hot tears stung at his eyes, and he blinked them away, lifting his head. “Fuck.” Great options Dean had here. Demon, crazy, or by some weird, _way weird_ , thing of nature, Sam had actually gotten pregnant. By him. Dean never thought he’d say it, but he was kind of hoping it was the crazy one. The article said the guy got treatment, and Dean wasn’t even sure that he wanted kids.  
  
He glanced at his watch again. Only eight o’clock. Christ, it was going to be a long night.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam’s eyelids fluttered open as he woke. The room was dark, save for the streetlights shining in through the window. He sat up slowly, and blinked his eyes a few times, trying to adjust to the dark. Dean was laying beside him, curled on his side, hand under the pillow. His watch was sitting on the nightstand where a clock _should_ have been. Sam leaned over and read the face, 3:23 am. But now, he wasn’t tired, and doubted he could go back to sleep. He looked again at Dean, who was still peacefully asleep, and got up, padding on the carpet floor to the bathroom. After relieving himself, he turned on the sink and washed his hands, before splashing cold water on his face.   
  
It hit him all of sudden, the previous day’s revelation, why he had gone to bed so early. Pregnant. The word echoed in Sam’s mind as he clutched at his stomach, and closed his eyes. He knew something was in him, he _knew_ it, but maybe he was wrong about what exactly _it_ was.   
  
Sam had never been around pregnant women, he had never really been around any kind of women, except for friends at Stanford, and professors, and, of course, Jess, but he wasn’t completely unaware of what they went through. He knew they had food cravings, and mood swings, and the ones of TV always seemed really tired. He rubbed his stomach gently, and looked down at where his fingers were.  
  
“Hey baby,” Sam said softly, speaking to whatever was in him. “I know you’re in there. Dean might not believe me, but I know. I guess…I guess I’m your daddy.” He looked back to the mirror, wondering if he had gone completely insane. He shook his head, and shut off the bathroom lights, walking back out to the bed. He climbed back in under the sheets, and pressed his chest to Dean’s back, an arm thrown over Dean’s side. “I guess you’re their daddy too,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck.  
  
Dean mumbled and shifted a little on the bed, but calmed back down, and soon, Sam fell back into sleep, Dean’s breathing like a lullaby.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“We’re leaving?” Sam asked from the bed, watching as Dean packed their bags quickly.  
  
“Huh?” Dean asked, looking over at Sam, who was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed. “Yeah, Sam, we’ve been here awhile. I don’t-- I think-- Bobby. We should go see Bobby. Or I should take you to a hospital. Okay, we’ll go see Bobby, and then we’ll go to a hospital. ”  
  
“I don’t think a hospital is equipped to deal with this!” Sam gestured to his stomach on the last word. “Pregnant men aren’t exactly the norm.”  
  
“It’s not for this,” Dean snapped, gesturing to his stomach, “it’s for this!” and he tapped his temple.  
  
Sam looked at Dean in confusion. “Wh-what? I don’t get it. What’s going on, what aren’t you telling me?”  
  
Dean stopped packing for a second, and looked at his brother. “I don’t know exactly, Sam. Yet. All I know is that you’re a schizophrenic who’s only gay because you’re in a power struggle with other men and you think you’re weak. Oh, and something delusions of grandeur.” He explained it as it was the most obvious thing ever, and he just went back to packing.  
  
“Dean!” Sam cried, “I’m not crazy! There is something in me!”  
  
“Then it’s an incubus, and I take you to Bobby,” Dean replied, shoving his shirt in a bag. “What part of my plan don’t you understand? Now come on, get up, get dressed, and we can get on our way.”  
  
Sam shook his head, and grabbed his pillow, trying to calm down, as to not kick Dean’s ass into next week. “I’m not going anywhere, until you admit that I’m not crazy.”  
  
“Fine!” Dean snapped. “You’re not crazy.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“You got knocked up by an incubus. Okay, alright, all buses leaving to South Dakota, and Bobby’s place, are now leaving. So come on Sam, get up, please."  
  
Sam shook his head, and chucked the pillow at Dean’s head as he came closer. “Leave me the fuck alone! Go to South Dakota by yourself; I’m staying here.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed at Sam, but his brother just ducked, and kicked, a long leg hitting Dean in the stomach. “Come on, Sam, don’t fight with me. Not today, okay?” He went at Sam again, and tried to grab him around his waist, but Sam was kicking and thrashing too much, and they both ended up on the floor.   
  
Dean recovered first and took advantage of it, and rolled on top of Sam, holding his wrists down. “Come on Sam, you lost. Now come on, goddamnit!”  
  
Sam shook his head and brought a thigh up, kneeing Dean in the groin.  
  
“Oh crap,” Dean groaned, letting go of Sam’s wrists. Sam grabbed onto Dean’s arms and brought a foot up to his stomach, rolling Dean up and off of him. Dean crashed into the nightstand, and Sam got up quickly, taking a fighting stance as he waited for Dean to get up too.  
  
Dean laid there for a moment, trying to get over the pain still radiating from his groin, but seeing Sam above him got the spark going again and he jumped up, facing Sam. “Sam, don’t make this any harder than this has to be. Bobby can help us.”  
  
“We don’t need his help!” Sam yelled. “It’s nothing he can help us with! I am pregnant!”  
  
“No, you’re not!” Dean yelled back. “It’s all in your head! Or you’ve been attacked by an incubus. Either way Sam, this isn’t your fault, and it can be taken care of.” He stepped towards his brother, but Sam just stepped back. Fortunately for Dean, who was getting rather tired of it all, Sam stumbled back, and he fell to the floor, landing on his butt with a soft “Oof”.   
  
Dean walked over to Sam and offered him his hand, but Sam didn’t take it. Sam’s eyes were squeezed shut, and he was clutching his stomach, body tense. “Sam? What happened? Are you okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, even though he obviously wasn’t, and tried to sit up, but he just fell back again. “It hurts, Dean,” he admitted. “God, it hurts.”  
  
Dean dropped to the floor automatically, pulling Sam onto his lap, cradling him in his arms. “Oh shit Sam, I didn’t-- I’m sorry.” His head fell forward as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to blink away threatening tears, as Sam just laid there, half on his lap. He took a deep breath, and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Dean said softly, running his fingers through Sam's hair. “I shouldn’t’ve-- you’re sick, and I just wanted--"  
  
“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam said softly, moving up on Dean’s lap. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. It must’ve just been stress or something. It’s okay.”  
  
Dean cleared his throat, wiped at his eyes, and looked at Sam, kissing him quickly. “Sam, I hate to say it again, but we can’t deal with this on our own. If it is an incubus, if Sam, Bobby can help us. And if it isn’t, if you really are,” he gulped, “pregnant, then he might know how to deal with that too.”  
  
Sam nodded and sighed, his body relaxing against Dean’s. “What if it’s the schizophrenic one? What then?” he looked up at Dean, green eyes wide.  
  
“Then we’ll get you help for that,” Dean said softly. “I’m not sure what’s going on here Sammy, but you’re my responsibility. You always have been. And now, whatever’s in here,” his hand fell to Sam’s stomach, “is my responsibility too.”  
 


	3. Chapter 3

“ _Again_ , Sam?” Dean asked in disbelief, glancing at his brother. “Christ, we just stopped like an hour ago.”  
  
Sam bounced up and down in his seat, teeth digging into his bottom lip, eyes pleading. “An hour and twenty-four minutes, actually.”  
  
Dean glanced over at Sam again, a look of wonder on his face. “You’ve been counting?”  
  
Sam shrugged, and started fiddling with his seatbelt, anything to take his mind off his bladder. “Well yeah, I wanted to see how long I could go. Dean, _please_ , just stop for a second. I won’t be long.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, pulling to a stop near a wooded area. “Thank god you’re not a woman, I don’t know where they go.”  
  
Sam unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the Impala door quickly and hopped out, jumping over the tiny drainage. He then ran a few feet into the trees.  
  
Dean leaned over, and yelled out the open door, “Watch out for deer hunters!” A minute later, Sam walked back out of the trees, a look of relief on his face. When he was only a few feet away, he grabbed at his stomach. Then, he turned away from the car, throwing up onto the grass. Dean just watched, a look of disgust on his face. “Oh, that’s just gross.”  
  
Sam retched for a few more moments, before wiping his mouth and turning back around, walking to the car. “Sorry.”  
  
Dean shrugged, and patted Sam on the knee, and started the car again, driving the car off the dirt and back onto the asphalt. “You feeling okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, and unbuckled his seatbelt, pulling his long legs up onto the seat, leaning back against the door. “Tired.”  
  
“Of course,” Dean said under his breath. “I mean, are you hungry? You brought your food with you.”  
  
Sam nodded again, but didn’t go for his bag. “Not hungry. Not in the mood to eat. Dean, can I ask you something?”  
  
“Sure, Sammy.”  
  
Sam took a deep breath, then shifted on the seat, sitting up more. “What do _you_ think is wrong with me?” He reached down and awkwardly pulled off his sneakers, dropping them to the floor, stretching his toes. “Really. And no jokes, please.”  
  
“Honestly…” Dean began, trying to think of a good way to phrase what he was about to say, “I don’t think you’re pregnant, Sam.”  
  
Sam’s face fell, and he tilted his head back, almost glaring at Dean from under his lashes. “Do you think I’m lying?”  
  
“No!” Dean protested, trying to pay attention to Sam, and the road. “You’re not lying Sam. I don’t-- it’s just that an incubus is a _lot_ more likely here. But I don’t know what to think. I looked last night on the net, while you were asleep--”  
  
“Well, I assumed you didn’t come up with ‘delusions of grandeur’ on your own,” Sam snapped quietly.  
  
"--and everything, so far, fits with a woman being pregnant. The cravings, and the mood swings, and the peeing, and being tired all the time,” Dean explained, as if it was something Sam didn’t already know. “If you are pregnant, like, actually, factually, gonna have a human baby pregnant, you’re being a total woman about it.  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow, and tried to keep the smile off his face. “Well Dean, thank you for that marvellous diagnosis. Tell me, did you get the medical license before or after your PhD?”  
  
“Hardy har har,” Dean said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. “I’m not a doctor, but the net is a great place. It’s all on there, you know. I even read this article about dudes who think pregnant chicks are hot.”  
  
Sam shrugged, not seeing the point. “So?”  
  
“Because the big stomach looks like a boob to them,” Dean finished quietly, as if someone besides Sam was around to hear.   
  
Sam could hardly contain the short bark of laughter. “Oh my god Dean, what the hell were you looking up? Jesus.” He laughed for a few moments more, before calming back down. He smiled over at Dean, and his head went to one side. “You know…”  
  
“What?” Dean asked, taking a quick look at Sam. “What?”  
  
Sam’s smile just grew, and he shook his head. “Nothing.” He brought his hand up to his mouth and began nibbling on the end of his thumb.  
  
“Yeah right nothing,” Dean muttered, glancing back over at Sam. “Come on Sam, if you’re gonna stare, you should at least tell me why.”  
  
Sam sat up and leaned forward, brushing a hand against Dean’s cheek, then running his fingers through Dean's cropped hair. “You’re gorgeous.” He put his feet on the floor and slid right over beside Dean. “I love you.” He kissed Dean’s cheek softly, then moved his mouth over to tease Dean’s earlobe.  
  
Dean moaned, and let his head fall back before remembering where he was. He sat up, and shook Sam off. “Come on Sam, not now. I’m driving here.”  
  
Sam sighed, and set his chin on Dean’s shoulder, watching him intently. “Absolutely gorgeous. Sometimes I think I’m the luckiest man alive.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Only sometimes? When do you not?”  
  
Sam lifted his head, then moved back to leaning against the door. He shrugged. “I don’t know. When I remember how awesome _I_ am, and think _you're_ the luckiest.  
  
Dean snorted, and shook his head. “Are you hitting on me?” he asked, trying to keep his mind on the road, which had become quite a chore since Sam’s foot had moved up onto to Dean’s lap, slowly rubbing into his groin.   
  
“Depends. Is it working?”  
  
Dean nodded quickly. “Hell yeah it is.”  
  
Sam waved his hand, gesturing to the steering wheel. “So pull over then. There’s not going to be another motel for miles.”  
  
“Is-- is it safe?” Dean asked, glancing down at where Sam’s hand was now sitting on his stomach. “With the baby, I mean.”  
  
Sam nodded. “I think so. Pregnant women do it.” He set his head back at the window and sighed, waiting for Dean to pull over.  
  
Dean looked at Sam, and made a decision he was probably going to regret for at least a week. “I don’t think so, Sam."  
  
Sam shot forward in his seat. “You don’t _think_ so? Why the hell not? I told you, it’s safe.”  
  
“For _women_ ,” Dean reminded him. “Women, Sam. And I doubt any of them do it in a car.”   
  
“You don’t know that,” Sam snapped. “Fuck, this is ridiculous. You get me knocked up, but then once I am, you don’t wanna touch me! What, plant the seed but don’t visit the garden?”  
  
Dean stared at Sam incredulously. “Which fucking Hallmark card did you get that one off of, Sam? You know what, never mind. Okay? Screw this, I am not fighting with a goddamn girl who’s PMS-ing in my car."  
  
Sam reached over and smacked the back of Dean’s head. “I’m not a girl! And if I _was_ PMS-ing, I wouldn’t be pregnant! Ugh!”   
  
Dean took a couple deep breaths, trying to calm himself down before saying something he’d _really_ regret. His grip on the wheel tightened, and he could feel his knuckles cracking. “This is just a mood swing, Sam. It’s just a mood swing. In five minutes, you’ll be fine.”  
  
Sam shook his head, and reached into the backseat, grabbing his duffel bag. He pulled it onto his lap, going through it.  
  
“That’s right, Sam,” Dean said softly, now trying to calm his brother. “Eat your pickles and peanut butter, or noodles and tuna, or whatever else you brought.”  
  
Sam grabbed a grocery bag out of his duffel and turned to Dean. “Fuck you, Dean.” He pulled out a package of Oreos, which looked completely appealing to Dean, until Sam pulled out the small tub of sour cream.  
  
“You uh-- you’re not putting those together, are you, Sam?” Dean asked, watching Sam out of the corner of his eye.  
  
Sam ripped open the package of Oreos, then opened the sour cream. “Is there a problem with that, Dean?”  
  
“What? No, uh, no,” Dean lied. “You can eat whatever you want, Sammy.”  
  
“Good.” Sam took out an Oreo and dipped it into the sour cream, bringing to his mouth slowly. He made sure Dean was watching, before shoving the entire cookie in his mouth, groaning in pleasure. “And by the way,” he started, mouth full, “it’s Sam.” And then he smiled, cookie and sour cream spread on his lips.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean pulled the into the junk yard, making sure not to hit Bobby’s new dog. He got as close to the house as he could before turning off the ignition, pocketing the keys. He looked over at Sam, and shook his head. Dean opened the door and jumped out, slamming the door behind him. “Sorry, baby." He patted the roof of the Impala, then shifted on his feet. He ducked his head and looked in the window. “Are you coming?”  
  
“Shut up!” Sam yelled, getting out of the car. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and followed Dean slowly to the front door. Dean knocked, and they both avoided looking at each other until Bobby answered.  
  
“Well well, what the hell are you two doing here?” Bobby asked in surprise, the door opening.   
  
Dean flashed a quick smile, then looked up at Sam. “We-- we think we need your help. Can we come in?”  
  
Bobby stepped aside and let the Winchesters walk by, shutting the door behind them. “Sam, you’ve got a little something on your face there."  
  
“Oh, sorry.” Sam wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve, cookie crumbs coming away. “So how have you been Bobby? I hope the cops didn’t treat you too bad after the whole Meg thing.”  
  
Bobby scrunched up his face and shook his head. “Nah. It was fine. Little investigation into me, but nothing nobody hasn’t done before. What about you two? Word around the street is that the demon got into John.”  
  
“Uh, yeah,” Sam answered, shifting on his feet, eyes going up to the pentacle on the ceiling. He had an idea. “Hey Bobby, does that keep _any_ thing in?”  
  
Dean looked up to the ceiling, then back down to Sam. “Sam, what are you thinking?”  
  
“Anything like what?” Bobby asked, inspecting the two brothers. “Goddamnit, you two don’t have some other poor girl out there, do ya? I’m not sure I can help you again.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Well, sort of like that. It’s me. I think there’s something in me.”  
  
Bobby’s jaw dropped a little and his eyebrow raised. “In you? But-- Jesus, Sammy, what have you gotten yourself into this time? What is it?”  
  
Sam began, “A--  
  
“I think it’s an incubus!” Dean interrupted, not wanting Bobby to hear what Sam thought it was.  
  
Bobby glanced at Sam, then down at his stomach, examining him as if he could see into the abdominal cavity. “You’re pregnant? Wait-- you think it’s an incubus? Well, what the hell does Sam think it is?”  
  
“I think it’s an actual baby,” Sam replied, not wanting to hide anything from Bobby.   
  
“Who you been having sex w--” and finally, it hit Bobby. How close Sam and Dean always were, and of course, the fact that now that they were on the road, Sam didn’t exactly have time for one-night stands, even if he would have them. “Oh.”  
  
"'Oh' is right,” Sam smiled. “Just-- if you run into Dad sometime, don't let him know, okay? When he does find out, we want to be the ones to tell him."  
  
Bobby stared for a moment longer before snapping out of it. “No, no, wouldn’t dream of telling John that. I might end up being the one at the end of a shotgun if I told him.”  
  
Sam and Dean both chuckled, the tension between them finally broken.  
  
“If it is an incubus,” Sam started, “and I stand in the pentacle, what will happen?”  
  
“You won’t be able to get out,” Bobby answered simply. “Until it’s out of ya. But you-- you think it’s a real baby? Your baby?”  
  
“Mine and Dean’s, yeah.”  
  
Bobby sighed, and thought for a moment. “Is there a third option, here, one less…pregnant?”   
  
“He could have schizophrenia,” Dean offered, but Sam quickly glared at him and he backed down. “But, you know, he’s never shown any symptoms before. That’s really not a serious option.”  
  
Bobby smiled, and looked at Sam, then the pentacle. “You ready to get in there?”  
  
Sam took a deep, nervous breath, then turned to Dean. “If I don’t come out of there, I’m sorry.”  
  
Dean smiled up at Sam and pulled him in for a hug, his mouth to his ear, so Bobby wouldn’t have to feel as uncomfortable, whispering: “I love you, Sam. And if you don’t come out there, I’m not going to love you any less for it.”  
  
Sam chuckled and pulled Dean in closer. “And you call me the woman.” He pulled back slightly and brushed his lips against Dean’s cheek. “Sorry about yelling in the car."  
  
Dean shrugged, and broke the hug, stepping back. He smiled an apology to Bobby, who just shrugged. “Well, Sam, if you’re going to do it, you should do it now.”  
  
“He’s right, Sam,” Bobby agreed, stepping forward. “If you do have an incubus in you, we need to find out, and soon, before this thing has a chance to grow."  
  
“Out?” Sam asked, as if the thought had just occurred to him for the first time. He hadn’t had the time to give thought to actually having to get the baby, whoever's baby it was, out of him. “H--how?”  
  
“Well, this isn’t a regular case. I’m not sure, but it’d kind of be like the male version of a c-section,” Bobby explained. “Of course, if it’s your baby, we’ll have to do the same thing anyway.”  
  
“You’re going to cut him open?” Dean asked, not sure he was happy with that idea. “Whoa, I don’t think so.”  
  
“Dean, it’s okay,” Sam assured him. “I’ll be okay.” He turned to Bobby, and nodded. “I’m ready.”   
  
“Go ahead,” Bobby waved his hand to the pentacle.  
  
Dean shifted on his feet anxiously as Sam took a step, and was then under the trap.   
  
Sam smiled, and held out his arms, as if to say ‘I’m fine’. “Not so bad in here. I thought it’d hurt or something.”  
  
“Well, you’re not trying to get out yet,” Bobby stated simply.   
  
“Right.” Sam took a deep breath, and nodded at Dean, who was watching him intently, face full of fear. “Dean, I’m okay. Calm down.”  
  
Dean nodded back and smiled, glancing at Bobby. “So, it’s gonna hurt if he tries to get out?”  
  
Bobby shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. We’ll have to see, won’t we?”  
  
Sam smiled hopefully, then took a step forward, a step that would take him out of the pentacle.   
  
Dean’s jaw dropped open, and he looked to Bobby. “Come on! Man! Geez, I was sure it was an incubus!”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, and walked back over to Dean. “Dean, I told you-- I’m pregnant.”  
  
“Bobby, what the hell are the odds that he’d actually be pregnant? What the hell could do that to a guy?” Dean demanded, turning to Bobby.  
  
Bobby shrugged, and grabbed a flask off a table, handing it to Dean. “I think you’re going to need this. I’ll get you a nine month supply.” He walked across the room, and Sam and Dean followed. “You can look through my books if you want. I’m not actually sure how this happened. First real case of it I’ve seen.”  
  
Dean shook his head, then downed more of the whiskey. “No. No. It’s not possible.” He turned to Sam. “It’s not possible. I mean, there’s always the schizophrenia option. Option C. My favourite.”  
  
“No, Dean,” Sam stated. “I’m not crazy.”  
  
Dean shook his head, and brought the flask to his mouth once more. “Sam, come on. I think the medical term is-- well I don’t actually know what the medical term is, but I know it’s not crazy. Medically insane? Goddamnit Sam, you are not pregnant! Ugh!” He dropped the flask and began stomping around, muttering to himself.  
  
Bobby leaned over to Sam. “Are you sure he’s not the crazy one here?”  
  
Sam chuckled and shook his head. “He’s not taking the news very well. And I thought I’d be freaking out. I mean, I’m the one with this thing in me."  
  
“Well, truth is Sammy, every man freaks out a little when they find out they’re gonna be a father,” Bobby explained. “Give him awhile, and by the looks of it, a bit more whiskey, and he’ll be fine."  
  
Sam smiled, then walked over to Dean, following him around the room, trying to grab onto him to calm him down. “D--Dean, stop. Okay, you have to stop. Dean!”  
  
Dean turned to face Sam, an almost crazy look in his eyes. “I’m not ready to be a dad! Especially not with you!”   
  
Sam’s faced showed the hurt quickly, and he stumbled a couple feet, completely taken aback. “What?”  
  
Dean quickly started apologizing. Or at least, tried to. “Sam. Sam, that is not what I meant. I just meant-- Christ, Sam, do not walk away from me!”  
  
“Bobby, do you have a room around here I can crash in?” Sam asked, tapping his foot on the floor. “Preferably one with a _lock_!” He turned to glare at Dean.  
  
“Uh, yeah,” Bobby answered, trying to stay out of the middle of this one. “Up the stairs, second door on the right.”  
  
Sam didn’t say anything else, just pushed past Dean and ran to the staircase, taking stairs three at a time.  
  
Dean followed Sam to the bottom of the stairs, calling after him. “Sam! Sam! You have to let me explain! Goddamnit Sam, please?”  
  
A slamming door was his only answer.  
  
Dean sighed, and turned to face Bobby, leaning against the railing. He took a deep breath, and another drink of whiskey. “Well, all things considered, I think I handled it well."  
  
 


	4. Chapter 4

Dean pulled the blanket closer, wrapping himself up in a fabric cocoon. He wanted to sleep-- he needed to sleep, but he just couldn’t get his eyes to stay shut. He rolled over on the almost too-small bed, and unwrapped the blanket, sitting up. He glanced at his watch, and groaned. Two AM. “Fuck,” he muttered. He looked around the bedroom Bobby had let him stay in. Dingy. Musty. Like no one had been in there in years. Of course, they probably hadn’t.   
  
Dean rubbed his eyes, and stood up. No point in staying in the bedroom if he wasn’t actually going to bed. He opened the heavy door, cringing as it creaked and groaned. He stepped out into the hallway, looking both ways. Sam’s room was right across from his. He felt the urge to go knock on the door, wake Sam up and plead his case, but he knew Sam needed his sleep. “Fuck,” he muttered again. He sighed, and made his way downstairs. As he sat down on the couch, he rolled his eyes. “Bored upstairs, bored downstairs. Same difference.” But he grabbed a pillow anyway and stuck it under his head. He shut his eyes, just intending to get a little rest before what he was sure was going to be a long day of research ahead of him.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Bobby didn’t even give you a bed?”  
  
Dean groaned, and his head lolled to one side. He opened his eyes slowly, and once his eyes adjusted to the sunlight filled room, he saw Sam in front of him, practically inhaling a bowl of Lucky Charms, wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. “Bobby gave me a bed,” Dean replied, grabbing his pillow and tossing it to the side. “I just couldn’t sleep in it.”  
  
Sam continued eating his breakfast, stopping only when milk dribbled out the side of his mouth.  
  
“You gonna be able to keep that down?” Dean asked, gesturing to the cereal.  
  
Sam nodded, and wiped his mouth. “Already threw up.”  
  
Dean gave a slight nod and clucked his tongue, looking around. “That’s a nice image. So, uh, you sleep well?”  
  
Sam nodded, and set the empty bowl down on the coffee table between them. “Yeah, slept fine.”  
  
Dean smiled, and sighed, leaning back into the couch. He stifled a yawn, then looked back over at Sam, who was watching him intently. “What’s up?”  
  
“You said ‘especially you’,” Sam answered quietly, meeting Dean’s eyes. “‘ _Especially_ you’. I just…I guess I don’t get it. I-- I don’t understand.”  
  
Dean sighed, then patted the spot on the couch beside him, meaning for Sam to come sit. Sam thought about it for a moment, then got up, brushing by Dean’s knees to take the seat.   
  
“I don’t really know what I meant myself,” Dean admitted when Sam had settled in beside him. “I know I didn’t mean it the way it came out. It’s just-- Sam, I love you. I love you so much. I had to wait forever to get you to love me back, but it was worth it.”  
  
Sam blushed, and looked down at the floor, fiddling with the fraying hem of his t-shirt.   
  
Dean smiled at Sam’s blush, then continued on. “And now, you’re going to have a baby. _We’re_ going to have a baby. If you were just some random girl, I’d be out of town before she even figured it out, but you-- we’re going to have a baby.”  
  
“You said,” Sam interrupted, a smile on his face. “Is there going to be an end to this soon, or do I need more cereal?”  
  
“We’re going to be parents. Sam, you’re twenty-three. You’re too young for this. A baby is not what you need now. To be honest, it’s not really what I need now either, but this isn’t just about me. After this, for the next eighteen years, or until this kid moves out, we’re never going to be alone. We’ll never just be able to stay in bed all day, we’ll never just be able to go out and hunt whatever we damn well want because we’ll have someone else to take care of, to think of. It’s just-- it scares me Sam, to think of what you’re giving up. You should be at Stanford…you should be with Jess,” Dean finished softly, glancing at Sam.   
  
Sam gave a sad smile, and bit at his lip. “I think that ship has sailed. Sailed and sunk.” He turned to Dean, and straddled one thigh, getting as close as he could and making sure Dean couldn’t look away. “Dean, I’m not giving anything up. I get to keep you, and then I get to keep our baby. That’s not giving anything up.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Dean asked, eyes shifting from Sam’s face to his stomach and back. “I don’t want--”  
  
“I’m sure,” Sam assured him. “I’ve never been more sure. Except when I decided I wanted you in my life forever.” He leaned in and brushed his lips against Dean’s. Soft, barely there at first, until Dean brought his hands up and ran them up and down Sam’s back, pulling him in closer. Sam pressed harder to Dean’s mouth, tracing the plump lips with his tongue. Unconsciously rocking against Dean’s thigh, Sam grew harder in his thin boxers. “I wish I could have you right now.” He dropped to mouth to Dean’s neck, sucking on the pulse point.  
  
Dean groaned and threw his head back, allowing Sam more access. “W-- we’ll have to wait. Motel.” He moved his head, nudging at Sam. Sam lifted his head and instantly Dean’s lips were back on his, tongues moving together languidly, as if they had all the time in the world. Unfortunately for them, they didn’t.  
  
A quiet ‘Ahem’ came from across the room. Then, another, this time louder.  
  
Sam broke the kiss and turned his head, seeing Bobby standing at the bottom of the stairs, awkwardly shifting on his feet.   
  
“I see you two made up,” Bobby muttered, trying to keep his eyes off the two of them.  
  
Sam and Dean both smiled sheepishly and Sam blushed, rolling off of Dean to sit, once again, beside him. “Sorry about that,” Dean apologized. “Pregnant wo-- I mean, people, just can’t control their hormones.”  
  
“Dean!” Sam protested, smacking his brother’s arm. “Don’t tell him that!”  
  
Bobby just waved his hand, then nodded his head slightly, trying to think of what to say. “So uh, who’s up for sausage? Oh wow, didn’t mean that…you know, um…eggs. Bacon, bacon. Who wants bacon?”  
  
Sam groaned, and squeezed his eyes shut.   
  
“Sam?” Dean asked, grabbing Sam and turning him to face him. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Bathroom,” Sam managed to get out before jumping off the couch and running out of the room.  
  
“I’m gonna take that as a ‘no’ for him,” Bobby smirked, turning to face Dean. “What about you? You eat yet?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Make me my bacon, Bobby!” He cracked an invisible whip, a huge grin on his face.  
  
Bobby rolled his eyes, then made his way into the kitchen. “Don’t make me get my shotgun out on you, too.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Bobby walked over to Sam and Dean. “Okay, now first, we gotta figure out when this-- this baby thing happened. So how far along are you there, Sammy?”  
  
Sam glanced at Dean, who was looking back. “I don’t know, not exactly.”  
  
“Rough estimate,” Bobby said, taking his seat. “Any idea, any at all.”  
  
“I have something that might help.” Dean stood up, and walked over to where his duffel bag sat near the door. He began digging through the pockets, and pulled out a couple pieces of paper. “I printed this thing off the internet, when I was on the computer the other day."  
  
“Okay then, lay it on me,” Bobby patted his knees. “Once we know when it happened, we can figure out what exactly you two may have come into contact with that could do something like this.”  
  
Dean began to read from the list. “Well, he pees a lot, and this here says six to eight weeks after conception. Morning sickness is two to eight weeks.”  
  
“Dean,” Sam said softly, “could you make this a little more embarrassing, please? I don’t think it’s weird enough already.”  
  
“Oh, shh, Sam,” Dean snapped. “The man already knows you’re pregnant and I’m the one that got you that way. Quiet down. Okay, for fatigue…two to eight weeks. Okay, what else…oh well, it says mood swings start around six to ten weeks, but occur any time during the pregnancy, so we have that to look forward to,” Dean joked, smiling at Sam. “Anything else Sam? I wrote them all down.”  
  
Sam thought for a moment. “Oh! The cravings.”  
  
“Right.” Dean shuddered at the thought of those Oreos and sour cream. “How could I forget. Cravings…well, nothing on when they actually happen, just that they do. Sensitivity to taste and smell, that’s usually within the first eight weeks.”  
  
“But I don’t have that,” Sam told him.  
  
“Oh, pfft,” Dean snorted. “You took one smell of that burger I got you from McDonalds and puked. You have it. Okay, let’s see.” Then, Dean reached a hand over and grabbed Sam’s left pec.  
  
“Ow!” Sam smacked Dean’s hand away. “What the hell are you doing? I’m not some girl with boobs you can just grab onto, Dean!”  
  
“Week five, breasts may feel tender,” Dean read from the paper. “God, this thing is awesome. It’s like a calendar or something."  
  
Sam looked at Dean incredulously. “Yeah Dean, I think it’s _exactly_ like a calendar. So is that it, Dr. Dean? Anything else to add to an already embarrassingly long list of symptoms?”  
  
Dean ran his eyes over the papers. “Nope, think that should do it. So, all those numbers, I’m going to go with a guess of eight. You’re after five and before ten.”  
  
Bobby nodded. “Alright, then. So eight weeks ago, where were ya? What were ya fighting?”  
  
Sam dropped his head to his hands, and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. What’s the date now?”  
  
“August twenty-eighth,” Dean answered, putting an arm around Sam’s shoulder. He pulled Sam in close to him, and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Sam, are you okay?”  
  
Sam nodded weakly. “I--I’m fine. Tired again. Shouldn’t be tired so soon.”  
  
“You wanna go back up to bed?” Dean asked softly, brushing Sam’s hair away from his face.  
  
Sam shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I wanna figure out what happened. Eight weeks ago…eight weeks ago was the second week in July. The eleventh. Where we were?”  
  
They both sat silently, thinking, Bobby waiting to hear from them.   
  
“July fourth we were in Fort Worth,” Dean came up with. “We slept all of the fifth, so the sixth we left. But where did we--”  
  
“Santa Fe,” Sam said softly. “We were in Santa Fe on the eleventh. The La Fonda Hotel.”  
  
“Well, what was it?” Bobby asked eagerly. “What were you there for?”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to answer, but he felt so tired all of a sudden. He slumped over onto Dean, eyelids flickering. “Dean…I’m tired. Bed.”  
  
Dean grabbed onto Sam, hauling him up as he stood. He held onto Sam by the waist, making sure it was a strong grip. “Can you make the stairs?” At Sam’s nod, Dean turned to Bobby. “I’ll be right back down, after I get him settled. Is it okay if he uses the room again?”  
  
Bobby nodded. “Of course." He swallowed, then shifted on his feet. "Do you need my help getting him up the stairs?"  
  
Dean glanced at Sam, who was practically hanging limp in his arms. “Well, couldn’t hurt. You take his other side.”  
  
Together, they managed to get Sam up the stairs, slowly but surely. Bobby opened the door and Dean walked Sam in, setting his brother on the bed, then lifting up his legs. “So drained,” Sam mumbled, reaching a hand out to Dean. “Tomorrow…we’ll go.”  
  
Dean knelt at Sam’s side, kissing the outstretched hand. “We’ll go when you feel better. Now sleep, Sammy. Me and Bobby will be right downstairs, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, then just shut his eyes.  
  
Dean stood up, and walked over to the door and Bobby. “Do you mind if we stay another night? I think he’ll need it.”  
  
“No problem. It’s not like anyone else is going to come and take this room out from under me,” Bobby chuckled.  
  
“Thanks, Bobby.” Dean closed the door behind them and they made their way back downstairs.   
  
Once they got settled back into the living room, Bobby spoke up. “So what were ya hunting in Santa Fe, at the hotel?”  
  
Dean thought for a moment, then leaned back into the couch. “Nothing big. I mean, nothing like something that could impregnate my brother. It was just a simple ghost hunt. Turns out the hotel was the site of some murders back in the day. A cowboy shot up the place, and later on, they lynched him out back.”  
  
Bobby thought for a minute and took a drink of his Irish coffee. “That doesn’t make any sense. Maybe the estimate was off. What were you two doing the week before and the week after?”  
  
Dean had to think before he answered. Sam was always much better at remembering where they’d been and why they were there. “Week before…God, a lot of the time was just driving and staying in motels, there really wasn’t anything that interested us. But there was a uh-- poltergeist. That’s why we were in Fort Worth. The week after-- fuck, what was that? Uh…some fallen angel deal.”  
  
“What?” Bobby asked, suddenly interested. “Where? What angel?”  
  
Dean’s jaw dropped slightly. “Uh, what the hell was his-- Rosier! Rosier? I think that’s right, but I mean, Sammy’s usually the go-to guy for this kind of thing, but I’m ninty-eight percent sure that’s his name.”  
  
“Well?” Bobby demanded. “What happened? Why did you have to go?”  
  
“Well, there wasn’t really anything we could do,” Dean admitted. “This family in Colorado Springs claimed their son was possessed. We went, we talked to the kid. He said he was Rosier, the fallen angel. We couldn’t think of anything to do, but before we could tell them that, the kid jumped from the roof of their apartment building. We got out of town pretty quick after that.”  
  
Bobby sighed, and took another drink. He stood up, and walked to the other side of the room, to a section on one of his bookcases. He grabbed a large text, The Complete Text of Devils and Demons, and walked back over to Dean. “This is the book for the best info on fallen demons. If that was his real name, he’ll be in here.” Luckily, the book had an index, and Bobby quickly found the page that Rosier was located on. “Okay, it says here ‘Rosier was a fallen angel, specifically a Dominion of the Second Sphere. He is the patron demon of’ --” he stopped short, and glanced up at Dean.  
  
“Patron demon of what?” Dean demanded. “What?”  
  
Bobby swallowed hard, then continued reading. “‘He is the patron demon of tainted love and seduction’.”  
  
“Tainted love?” Dean repeated. “But-- me and Sammy…”  
  
“Some probably see it as tainted,” Bobby reminded him. “Which means, I suggest staying out of a few states. But this Rosier guy, says that he leads men and women into carnal sin. And if I can say this without you kicking my ass, I’m guessing you two-- uh, well, you know…” he winked at Dean.  
  
“Huh?” Dean was confused. “Oh! Oh! Yeah, right. Um, yeah, we did. I mean, we do. A lot. We’re young like that. And yeah, we did…that…in Colorado Springs.”  
  
Bobby shut the book and patted Dean on the knee. “I think this guy’s punishing you, for falling under his spell. Was the uh, you know, particularly better in Colorado? And please, spare the details.”  
  
Dean smiled slightly, and thought for a second. “Oh yeah. Better is well, an understatement. It was like, well, now that I know it was a demon, I’m going with 'like we were possessed'. It was like I was high or something.”  
  
“Well, that’s settled then. That’s definitely your bun in Sammy’s oven, but you have Rosier to thank for it.”  
  
Dean groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Sam was _not_ going to be happy.  
 


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 5/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** NC-17 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** Dean lets Sam in on how exactly this all happened, with some interesting results.  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_  
 

 

Sam was crying, again. Well, actually, sobbing was probably the more technical definition. Either way, for the first time in the past few days, Dean actually thought that this moment actually deserved it.  
  
“A demon?” Sam cried out, grabbing onto his pillow. “But-- why? Dean, we didn’t do anything to that kid! He nearly strangled me!”  
  
“That’s when we think it happened,” Dean explained softly, running his fingers through Sam’s hair. “That’s when he did something to you, made you able to get pregnant. Then, of course, we had our ‘thank god we’re alive sex’, and I-- well, we--”  
  
“You got me pregnant!” Sam finished, smacking Dean in the arm. “Goddamnit, Dean, you couldn’t have worn a condom, now could you?”  
  
“We _never_ use condoms, Mr. Suddenly Safe Sex! You don’t use them, either!” Dean snapped, smacking Sam’s arm right back. “But Sam, fighting isn’t going to fix this. I mean, you were all happy-jolly about having this baby before. It’s still ours Sam, it’s still mine. We just had a little help from a fallen angel.”  
  
Sam tried to smile through his tears, but more tears just spilled over, and he began sobbing again. He tried to calm down, taking huge gulps of breath. “Dean-- Dean, I can’t breathe.” He tried to sit up, but when he did it just got harder to breathe. “Dean!”  
  
Holy shit. Sam hadn’t had one of these attacks since he was twelve and shot his first werewolf. _What had Dad done?_ Dean tried to think. He grabbed onto Sam, pulling him close against him, his chest to Sam’s back. “Sam, listen to me. You can breathe. You can breathe.”  
  
Sam just shook his head and tried to get away from him. “Dean!”  
  
“Shh,” Dean said softly, rocking Sam back and forth. “C’mon, you saw Signs. Listen to me breathe, feel me breathe. You have to calm down. Take a deep breath, Sammy.” He pressed soft kisses to the back of Sam’s neck, still rocking, still trying to calm him down. “It’s okay, Sammy. It’ll be okay. Shh.”  
  
Soon, Sam’s breathing went back to normal. He sat tense against Dean’s chest, fingers digging into Dean’s thighs, but at least he could breathe again. “Dean…”  
  
“I’m here,” Dean said gently, running his hands up and down Sam’s arms. “It’ll be okay. We can do this. We can make it through this.”  
  
Sam nodded, and pressed himself further against Dean. “I’m scared,” he admitted softly, head dropping forward. “I’m scared, Dean.”  
  
“Now you know how I feel,” Dean chuckled softly. “Sammy, I’m sorry. About all this. I-- I should’ve believed you. I should’ve looked up that Rosier guy when we had the chance. I’m sorry.” Dean pressed another soft kiss to Sam’s neck. “Forgive me?”  
  
Sam nodded and turned slightly on his lap, so that he could face Dean. “It’s not your fault.” He pressed a light kiss to Dean’s mouth, pulling away after a moment. He smiled at Dean, then looked down at his stomach. “What are we going to do with you?” he asked the baby, as if it could answer. “And what,” he turned back to Dean, “am _I_ going to do with _you_?”  
  
“Me?” Dean asked, mock surprise. “Why, I have no idea what you mean.” He smiled at Sam, and brushed Sam's bangs away from his forehead. “You need a haircut, Sammy.”  
  
“It’s Sam,” he corrected. “And I do not! My hair is fine the way it is. I hate it short, you know that. And you like it long,” he reminded Dean. “You said it gives you something to hold onto.”  
  
Dean smiled and shook his head slightly. “Speaking of that…”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam smirked, pretty sure he knew where Dean was going with this.  
  
Dean shrugged. “You maybe wanna--”  
  
He was interrupted by Sam’s mouth back on his, tongue pressing insistently at his lips. Dean moaned, and opened his mouth, Sam’s tongue slipping in. As their mouths moved together, Sam’s hands slipped up under Dean’s t-shirt, fingers quickly finding a nipple. Dean moaned again, and brought his hands up to tangle in Sam’s hair, pulling him in closer.  
  
Sam broke the kiss to grab the hem of Dean’s shirt and pull it off, eyes raking over the golden skin. “I want you.”  
  
“You have me,” Dean told him, and peeled off Sam’s shirt, wetting his lips. “C’mon Sammy, fuck me.”  
  
Sam’s eyes closed, trying to get himself under control. He began pressing kisses along Dean’s jaw, moving down to his neck, then chest. He shimmied his body down Dean’s, nipping and biting at every new part of skin he could reach. At his abs, Sam looked up at Dean, dipping his tongue into his belly-button. “Lube?” Sam asked, before working to unbuckle the belt. Then, he saw a familiar looking tube sticking out of the denim pocket. “You came prepared.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “You know me, Sammy, Boy Scout till I die.”  
  
Grabbing the tube of lube and setting it aside, Sam began pulling down Dean’s jeans, Dean lifting his hips to help him out. As Dean kicked off the jeans, Sam looked up at Dean, eyebrow raised. “Commando?”  
  
“What?” Dean defended. “I told you, Boy Scout.”  
  
Sam just rolled his eyes and sat up on the bed, pushing his own boxers past his hips. Kicking them off, he moved up Dean’s body, kissing him insistently, tongues moving together, teeth almost knocking. He fumbled for the tube of lube, flipping open the top. He had to break the kiss to get the slick liquid in his hand, but once he did, he went right back to Dean. Sam slipped one hand between them, two fingers pressing to Dean’s entrance.  
  
Dean broke the kiss, panting. “Do it, Sammy. Please, just do--” His voice broke off and he arched his back slightly as Sam’s fingers automatically went to that spot inside Dean. He gave a tiny cry as Sam’s fingers massaged his prostate, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck. _Fuck_!”  
  
Sam leaned down to Dean’s ear. “Shh, Bobby might hear.”  
  
Dean nodded furiously, and began working his hips against Sam, fucking himself on Sam’s fingers. “Sam, Sam-- now. Now!”  
  
Sam quickly removed his fingers and slicked himself with the lube left on his hand. He pushed himself up onto his knees, and grabbed Dean’s legs, bringing them up to his shoulders. Positioning himself, he slid into Dean, going to the hilt quickly.   
  
Dean cried out; a broken gasp, then a whimper as Sam began pumping his hips. “S-- Sam. Sammy, I need to--”  
  
“Do it,” Sam gritted through his teeth, pumping his hips, hard and fast. “Do it, Dean. Touch yourself. Come on, Dean.”  
  
Dean let out a low groan as his hand wrapped around his length. Precum dribbled out, collecting on Dean’s taut stomach. Using it as lubrication, Dean worked his hand quickly, in time to Sam’s thrusts. It was going to be over too fast, too soon, at the pace they were setting, but both were too far gone to care.   
  
Dean’s head tossed back and forth on the pillows as he neared the edge. Trying to stay as silent as possible, his bottom lip began to bleed as his teeth bit through. “Sammy. Sammy, I can’t last.”  
  
Sam’s grip on Dean’s legs tightened, and his thrusts quickened, hitting Dean’s prostate almost every time. “Then don’t. Come, Dean. For me.”  
  
Dean’s eyes squeezed shut and his head was thrown back, as a whine broke from the back of his throat. His hips thrust up into his hand as he came, spilling over his fist and stomach. He stroked himself through the aftershocks, and he laid there, spent, watching Sam finish up from hooded eyes.  
  
Sam reached one hand down, dragging two fingers through the mess on Dean’s stomach. He brought them back up to his mouth, sucking them in greedily. He moaned as Dean exploded on his taste buds, and his eyes shut gently. His jaw dropped slightly as his thrusts ceased, and Dean felt the familiar warmth spread within him. Sam groaned, pumping his hips gently a couple more times, until his head dropped forward. He let go of Dean’s legs and they fell back down to the bed. Sam managed to stay up only a few seconds longer, before slumping back down onto the bed.  
  
“Fuck,” Dean breathed, turning his head to face Sam. “That was amazing. You feel okay? With the baby?”  
  
Sam nodded, and snuggled into the pillow. He reached blindly for the edge of a blanket to pull over them, ignoring the need for a shower. They laid silent for a minute, before Sam started laughing.  
  
“What?” Dean asked, almost still breathless. “What’s so funny?”  
  
Sam shook his head, and rolled over half onto Dean, head resting under Dean’s chin. “We still didn’t use a condom.”  
  
Dean chuckled at that, and pressed a kiss to the Sam’s head. “You think Bobby heard us?”  
  
“Oh, most definitely.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“So, now, Dean, you have to listen to this. I’m not gonna be around to do this for you, so you have to listen,” Bobby commanded. “You’ll need a sharp, very sharp, clean blade. Sterilize it before you use it.”  
  
Dean nodded, then glanced at Sam, who was listening intently. He couldn’t believe he was going to have to cut his child out of Sam. It sounded too dangerous to him.   
  
“How should he sterilize it?” Sam asked. He figured if Dean wasn’t going to be paying any attention, he should.   
  
Bobby shrugged. “Lots of ways. Boiling water. Hold it to a flame. Rubbing alcohol mixed with water. You boys should know how to do that. Now Dean, you don’t want to cut too deep. You cut too deep, you risk hurting the baby, or worse, Sam.”  
  
Dean nodded again, and looked over at Sam. “Sam, I don’t-- I can’t do this.”  
  
Sam looked at Dean in confusion. “Dean, I told you, it’ll be okay. We’ll raise this kid--”  
  
“Not that, Sam,” Dean interrupted. “I can’t cut you open. I _won’t_.”  
  
Sam sat forward in his chair, leaning over to Dean. “Dean, you have to. You’re my only hope, here. We can’t get a hospital to do this.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “I can’t, Sam. I’m sorry. We’ll get someone else to do it. We’ll find a midwife or something, but I cannot cut open my brother. I could kill you.”  
  
“A midwife?” Sam repeated. “Dean, you can’t be serious. No midwife is going to cut open a guy!”  
  
“I can understand you being nervous, Dean,” Bobby began, “but Sam’s right. You think some midwife is gonna do this for you? It’s you, Dean.”  
  
“Well, what about you?” Dean asked, turning to Bobby. “You seem to know how to do it. You can. We’ll come here.”  
  
Bobby shook his head furiously. “Oh no, not me. I can only do this in theory. I’ve never had to do it before. But-- but I do know one man who can help.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked, interested. “He’s done this type of thing before?”  
  
“Well,” Bobby started slowly, “this _type_. Now, I’m not saying he’s given an actual c-section, but I’ve known him to cut a few babies out of a demon’s belly, before.”  
  
Sam nodded, then looked over to Dean. “Sounds okay to me. I mean, is he a good guy Bobby? Would he help?”  
  
“I’d like to think so,” Bobby replied. “He’s a good guy. Gets on my nerves most of the time I’m around him, but I think you two can stand him.”  
  
“Hey, as long as I’m not the one who has to do this,” Dean said. “Where is he? I mean, is he in South Dakota?”  
  
“He’s pretty close, actually,” Bobby answered. He looked up as there was a creak in the floorboards.  
  
“Hey, boys.” A man stepped out of the kitchen into the living room.  
  
Sam and Dean both glanced at each other, jaws opened slightly.  
  
“Dad?”  
 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 6/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** When John refuses to leave, Sam takes matters into his own hands, with near devastating results  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_  
 

 

John stepped further into the room, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. “Dean. Sam.”  
  
“Bobby?” Sam asked angrily, turning to the man sitting around the coffee table. “You called our father?”  
  
“Actually, Sam, Dean called me,” John answered. “He said he thought you were attacked by a demon, and that you were coming to see Bobby.”  
  
“You called Dad?” Sam asked in disbelief, smacking Dean’s arm. “I can’t believe you called him, without telling me! We don’t need him, Dean.”  
  
John shifted on his feet, looking around the room. “From what I hear, you do, Sam.”  
  
Sam pushed himself up from the couch, and stormed over to John, getting in his face. “We don’t. We can find someone else. Anyone but you.”  
  
“Sam, I understand you’re mad--”  
  
“Mad doesn’t even fucking begin to describe what I feel about you,” Sam snapped angrily. “We don’t need you.”  
  
Dean walked over to Sam and John, trying to get between them. “Sam, don’t talk to him like that. Dad, when did you get here?”  
  
John looked down at the floor, and if it wasn’t for his facial hair, they could have seen a blush on him. “When you were…upstairs. Bobby told me-- well, he told me what he could. He said he promised he’d let you two fill in the holes.”  
  
Bobby looked at the three Winchesters, then got up slowly. “You know what? I uh, I think I’m gonna go into town. Get a coffee or something. You guys want anything?” At their silence, Bobby nodded. “I’ll be going then.” And with that, he had his boots on and he was out the door.  
  
“I can’t believe you two,” John said as soon as Bobby was out of hear shot. “This-- this is sick.”  
  
“Shut up,” Sam said quietly, looking everyway but at his father.  
  
“Dean, I can’t believe you did this to your little brother,” John continued. “This isn’t right. You're _brothers_. Don't you get that?”  
  
“Shut up,” Sam repeated, louder this time, but John just ignored him.  
  
“And now, of all things, you didn't pay attention, and got attacked by a demon. You're pregnant! What were you _thinking_? You can't have a baby, especially not with each other!”  
  
“Shut up!” Sam screamed, giving his father a shove.   
  
“Hey! Hey!” Dean yelled, grabbing Sam and pulling him away before he did anything else. “Hey! Sam! Calm down. Calm down. It doesn’t matter what he says, okay?”  
  
“I hate you!” Sam cried at his father. “You-- you left us! And now, you’re just here to judge. You don’t want to help us, you want to ruin us!”  
  
“Sam,” Dean commanded, pulling his brother away from John. “Stop. Okay? Stop it. He’s our father, we have to give him a chance here. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.” He kept his arms on Sam and walked him back over to the table, pulling him down onto the couch. “Are you okay? Do you want something to eat? Are you tired?”  
  
Sam shook his head, eyes boring holes into the floor in front of him. “I’m fine, and I’ll be even better when he’s gone.”  
  
John walked over to them, sitting down across from them at the table. “I’m not leaving you two. You boys need me. I just-- I don’t know how I never saw this before. I should’ve figured it out. I should've known.”  
  
“Dad, we made sure that you didn’t,” Dean explained. “We knew it would hurt you, so we didn’t tell you. We couldn’t-- we didn’t know how to break it to you. I’m sorry.”  
  
“Dean, we don’t have to apologize,” Sam said, turning to his brother. “We didn’t do anything wrong. Now make him leave. _Please_.”  
  
“Sam, remember when you said you were scared?” Dean asked Sam softly. “Well I’m scared now, too, okay? I can’t just-- I won’t hurt you. If Dad can do this, we need to let him do this. Can you do this, Dad?”  
  
John nodded slowly, swallowing nervously. “I-- I think I can. I’ve done this sort of thing before; of course, before, it was a _completely_ different situation, and I didn’t care much for who I was cutting open.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “This shouldn’t be too different then.”  
  
John stood up quickly, pushing his chair back. “You think I don’t love you, Sam? That’s what this is? Fuck, Sam, how can you think that?”  
  
Sam stood up to face him, and Dean just stood up so he wouldn’t feel stupid being the only one sitting down. “You left us! In the hospital! We were hurt, Dad. We were _hurt_ , and you just left us there, by ourselves.” Suddenly, Sam’s hand shot to his mouth, and he turned an awful shade of green. He ran out of the living room and into the downstairs bathroom.   
  
John’s gaze followed Sam, then went back to Dean. “What--”  
  
“The morning sickness,” Dean replied, nodding his head. He sighed, and rubbed his hand over his head, obviously tired. He slumped back in his seat, waiting for Sam to come back. He decided to let Sam do all the arguing today, and tried to keep himself calm. “How’ve you been, Dad?”  
  
John half-smiled at Dean’s attempt at small talk, then took his seat again. He didn't go there looking for a fight. He went there for his children. “Been good. Got a couple hunts done, you know, the usual. What-- what about you and Sam? Um, other-- other than the--”  
  
Dean nodded, understanding. “We’ve been good. After we got out of the hospital, we just, I don’t know, everything calmed down a bit. We've done a few hunts. Nothing special.”  
  
“Except for Rosier,” John reminded him softly. “I-- I should’ve been there. Sam’s right, I shouldn’t’ve left you in the hospital. Maybe if I had been there, this wouldn’t have happened. I could've stopped it."  
  
“You know Dad, it’s not the _worst_ thing that’s ever happened to us,” Dean said. “You always said I should grow up, take on some responsibility.”  
  
John looked at Dean in confusion. “I never said that.”  
  
“Oh. Must’ve been Sam,” Dean shrugged. “Well anyway it’s like ‘wow’, you know? I mean, of course you know, you have kids.”  
  
John chuckled at that, despite the feeling deep in the pit of his stomach telling him how wrong it all was. “That I do. I just-- I can’t believe my boys are gonna be fathers.” He rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Especially not with each other." He sighed, then tried a different tactic, trying not to make Dean as mad as he made Sam. "Seems like just yesterday I found you sleeping in his crib.”  
  
Dean just stared at John. _Well, if we can't do serious and emotional, go for the jokes. Anything to make this easier_ , Dean thought to himself. “See, Dad, that’s why we’re together. You let me sleep in his crib. And that pink shirt I wore when I was five.”  
  
John looked up at Dean, a serious look in his eyes, until he got what Dean was trying to do. “Don’t say that Dean!” John jokingly pleaded, going along. “Don’t tell me I could’ve changed everything if I had bought it in blue.”  
  
“Bought what in blue?” Sam asked, walking back into the room. He wiped at his mouth, then walked back over to the couch.   
  
“Nothing,” Dean answered, putting an arm around Sam’s shoulder. “You okay? Everything okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, shifting under Dean’s arm and John’s awkward/embarrassed looks. “Just your standard run-of-the-mill morning sickness. I’ll be fine.”  
  
“You hungry?” Dean asked. “We’ve got whatever Bobby has, then what you brought.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “I am getting tired, though. I might need another nap, sometime,” he said softly, as if embarrassed. “I just-- everything, you know? It takes a lot out of me.”  
  
“You take after your mother,” John spoke up automatically, without even thinking, interrupting Sam and Dean’s conversation. Realizing what he said, he cleared his throat. “I mean, she got sick a lot with you two, and she was almost always sleeping. You must take after her.”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked, finally interested in something John had to say. This was the first time in memory he had ever been compared to his mother. “I’m like her?”  
  
John nodded slowly, not sure how far he could go into this without the feeling in his stomach getting worse. “Oh yeah. She’d get up in the morning, get sick, eat some weird food I couldn’t understand, then go take a nap. I got a lot of reading done when she was pregnant.”  
  
“Weird food?” Sam asked. “Like-- like what?”  
  
John thought for a moment. “You know, I can’t really remember. Something with pickles and peanut butter, I know that. Still makes me gag a little.”  
  
“Well, try not to watch Sam eat then,” Dean smirked. “Pickles and peanut butter, tuna and dry noodles. And the worst, Oreos and sour cream.”  
  
“Hey! You didn’t try those; you don’t know,” Sam defended. “I like it.”   
  
They sat silent for a few minutes, as conversation had seemingly run out, (well, safe conversation) until Sam spoke up again. “Are you just gonna leave us again?”  
  
“Sam!” Dean said in surprise. “Don’t do this.”  
  
“Dad?” Sam asked, looking at John expectantly.  
  
John bit his lip, and let out a sigh. He still didn’t answer, he took his time thinking of an answer. Finally, he replied, “Not now. Not until-- not until you…have the baby. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”  
  
“Promise?” Sam asked. “ _Really_ promise?”  
  
John nodded. “I promise. No matter how much I-- I disapprove, you're still my boys, and you need me.”  
  
“We needed you before,” Sam said under his breath, but both men heard him. When he realized that they had, he spoke louder. “And you left us anyway! You say you won’t, but we all know, Dad; maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but you’ll get bored again, and have to go fight something, or help someone who isn’t us, and you’ll be gone.”  
  
“Maybe you’re not the one to talk about leaving his family, Sam,” John said warningly. “Or do I need to remind you about _that_?”  
  
Dean dropped his head into his hands. “God, why do you two have to do this _every_ time you’re in the same room? I’m getting something to drink.” He pushed himself up from the couch and walked into the kitchen, leaving John and Sam to fight. “Or kill each other,” Dean muttered.   
  
“That’s different!” Sam defended. “I left for college! You know what, Dad? Fuck this, I’m not doing this anymore. Either you leave, or I do.”  
  
John shook his head. “I told you Sam, I’m not leaving. Not this time.”  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow, then stood up. “Fine. Then, I am.” He walked over to the door, and slipped his feet in his sneakers.   
  
John stood up quickly and walked to the door, pushing it shut as Sam pulled on the handle. “Sam, you can’t leave.”  
  
Sam turned to face John, so close to each other he had to look down at him. “Let me go, Dad.”  
  
John shook his head and kept his hand where it was, making sure the door stayed closed. “I’m not letting you leave, Sam. This-- this is just a mood swing or something.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “God. Everything is _not_ a mood swing! I’m fine! Now let me leave!”  
  
Dean walked back into the living room, a bottle of beer in his hand. “What the hell’s going on?”  
  
They both turned to face Dean. “He’s trying to leave,” John answered.  
  
“Sam?” Dean asked. He set his beer down and walked over to the two of them. “What’s he talking about?”  
  
Sam pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes, and shook his head. “I can’t do this, I can’t do this.” He shook his head harder, almost thrashing.   
  
“Sam?” John and Dean asked together.   
  
Sam ignored them, and just kept shaking his head. “No, no, no, no.”   
  
Dean took a step forward as John took a step back, deciding to let Dean take care of him. “Sam?” He grasped onto Sam’s wrists, taking his hands away from his eyes. “Sam, it’s okay. What’s wrong, what’s going on?”  
  
Sam looked at Dean, his pupils dilated so much his eyes were almost completely black. “Dean?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Sam, what’s happening?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “I-- I don’t know. Everything hurts, and-- and-- and everything-- Dean.” Then, Sam collapsed, his long legs falling out from beneath him. Dean grabbed at him, half-holding him up.  
  
“Sam,” John said in shock, dropped to his knees in front of him, almost eye-to-eye with him. “Sam?” He patted Sam’s cheek lightly, trying to wake him up. “Dean, he’s unconscious.”  
  
“Sam?” Dean asked, fear coming through in his voice. “Dad-- Dad, what happened?”  
  
John shook his head. “I don’t know. But we should get him up to bed.” He stood up, putting one of Sam’s arms over his shoulders. Dean then did the same. Slowly, even slower than when Bobby helped Dean take him upstairs, they made their way up, Sam completely dead weight in their arms. Finally, they made it to the top of the stairs. “What room is his?” John asked, shifting Sam slightly.   
  
Dean pointed to the door. “This one.” They took a couple steps forward and Dean opened the door. Realizing they hadn't made the bed earlier, and knowing that John obviously knew what they were doing up there, Dean automatically blushed. John glanced at Dean, his own blush gracing his features, but otherwise ignored the state of the bed, and they walked in, setting Sam down on the mattress. Trying to make him more comfortable, Dean began taking Sam’s heavy clothes off. He pulled off the sneakers, then moved up, fumbling with his belt. Careful not to catch on his boxers, Dean pulled Sam’s jeans down, tossing them to the floor. “It’s going to be okay, Sammy, you’re going to be okay.”  
  
“Dean--” John began.  
  
“He’s going to be fine!” Dean cried, before unzipping Sam’s hoodie. He pulled Sam to him, holding him to his chest. “Dad, get his sleeves. Please.”  
  
John nodded, and stepped to the bed, slipping one arm out of the sleeve, then reaching over to do the other. He grabbed the hoodie out from under him, and dropped it down by his jeans. “I should call Bobby, get him to come back. He might know something.”  
  
Dean held onto Sam, kept him to his chest, and looked up at his father, eyes brimming with tears. “Dad, he has to be okay. We-- we need to take him to the hospital. He needs help, Dad. We can’t help him here. He needs-- he needs--” The tears spilled over and Dean began to cry into Sam’s t-shirt. “He needs help.”  
  
John nodded, then sat down on the bed behind Dean, pulling him in. John held onto Dean, Dean held onto Sam. Sam’s arms hung limply at his side.  
 


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

 

Bobby walked into the house, kicking off his boots. He looked around the living room and what he could see of the kitchen. He double-checked outside, seeing if Dean’s Impala and John’s truck were still there. They were. “Hello? Anybody home?”   
  
John came walking down the stairs, a grim look on his face. “Bobby.”  
  
Bobby nodded hello. “Where are the boys?”  
  
“Upstairs,” John answered. “Sam-- Sam’s sick.”  
  
“Sick how?” Bobby asked, walking over to the stairs. “He okay?”  
  
John shook his head. “We don’t know. He was fine, and then we got into a fight, and then he-- I don’t know, Bobby. He’s unconscious. We were wondering if there was anything in any of your books, might help us out with this.”  
  
Bobby took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Pulling his hat back on, he shrugged. “I don’t know, John. I mean, it could be anything. You think maybe he’s just, I don’t know, sick?”  
  
“Sam!” a cry came from upstairs.  
  
John looked at Bobby before turning around and dashing back up the stairs. “What’s going on?” he asked, running into the room. “Sam.”  
  
“Hi,” Sam said weakly. “Woke up.”  
  
“I guess so,” John smiled, walking over to the bed. “How you feeling?”  
  
Sam was trembling, the hand that wasn’t holding Dean’s was gripping into the sheets, and he was covered in sweat, but he still managed to smile. “Fine.”  
  
Dean, John and Bobby all collectively rolled their eyes.  
  
Sam began to laugh, but it soon turned into a coughing fit. He tried to sit up, to try to breathe easier, but it didn’t help.   
  
Dean shifted on the bed, to sit behind Sam and rub his back. “It’s okay, get it out. Get it out.”  
  
Sam brought his fist to his mouth, and began coughing harder, his face red. “I’m fine,” he said softly, still coughing slightly. “I’ll be fine.” He leaned back onto Dean, and calmed down. “Told you.”  
  
“Yeah, a fever and a coughing fit,” Dean began, “that’s great. That’s exactly how I want you to be.”  
  
It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m fine! God, I’d call you 'Dad', but since he’s here…Oh, hey Bobby, when did you get home?”  
  
“A couple minutes ago,” Bobby answered, surveying the damage to Sam’s body. The sweat had soaked through Sam’s t-shirt, the veins in his arms were bulging, and his eyes were still black. “You’re infected.”  
  
Sam and Dean looked up, and John turned to face him. “What do you mean?” Dean asked, absent-mindedly running his hands up and down Sam’s arm comfortingly.  
  
“Bobby,” John said warningly. “Don’t tell them.”  
  
“Dad?” Sam asked. “Don’t tell us what? What’s going on?”  
  
“I figured it was an infection,” John admitted, “but I didn’t want to say anything; I didn’t want to scare you until I was sure. That was, until Bobby here--”  
  
“Shut up, Winchester,” Bobby snapped. “Your boys need to know.”  
  
“Well then someone tell us!” Sam pleaded. “What’s going on? What type of infection?”  
  
“With the baby,” Bobby said. “You boys got yourselves in some trouble with that Rosier.”  
  
Dean and Sam looked confused as they looked over to John.  
  
“What he means is, I don’t think this baby was ever supposed to be carried to term,” John explained. “Rosier used the baby as a way to get into you Sam, to weaken you. Your love is tainted, and he’s punishing you for it.”  
  
Sam’s eyes opened wide. “He’s going to kill my baby?”  
  
John and Bobby glanced at each other, and Bobby shook his head slowly. “He’s going to kill _you_.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“He’s sleeping again,” Dean said softly, closing the door behind him. “He keeps-- it’s like he’s in a nightmare or something. Crying, whimpering…I couldn’t take it anymore.”  
  
John nodded, and patted Dean comfortingly on the back. “Everything’s going to work out.”  
  
“How can you say that?” Dean asked, looking up at John. “Bobby said Sammy’s going to die, and you think everything’s going to ‘work out’?”   
  
“Come downstairs, Dean,” John said softly. “Bobby made supper. I’m not sure what, or if it’s even edible, but it’s something.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “I should probably get back to Sam.”  
  
“He’s asleep,” John reminded him. “And you need to eat. I’ll make you a deal--”  
  
“Dad, I think I’m a little old for this, no offence.”  
  
“You eat a full plate of dinner, and I won’t say anything when you stay up all tonight, worried to death,” John finished.  
  
“How are you _not_ worried about this Dad?” Dean demanded. “Your son is dying, and you’re not doing anything!”  
  
“There’s nothing to do!” John snapped angrily. “Believe me, I’d do anything on this Earth to help Sammy get better, but right now, at this point…there isn’t anything. Now please, come eat something. Sammy needs us to be strong.”  
  
“Shouldn’t he eat something?” Dean asked as he followed John down the stairs. “Keep his strength up?”  
  
“When he wakes up, we’ll give him something,” John replied, walking into the kitchen. “What do you got for us, Bobby?”  
  
Bobby looked up from the oven. “Chicken and fries. Now, I don’t know, nor do I care how you lot like your food done, so you’re gonna shut up and eat it.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Dean said softly, taking a seat at the table. He waited until his plate was put in front of him, then he quietly began to eat. John sat down beside him, then Bobby was across from him. As he ate, Dean stared at the empty chair, thinking that Sam should be there with them.  
  
“Dean?” John asked, taking a sip of his beer. “You okay?”  
  
Dean didn’t even look at John, just nodded, and continued eating.   
  
“So what are we going to do?” Bobby asked John softly, not caring that Dean was at the table.  
  
John was watching Dean watch the chair, but he turned to Bobby when he spoke. “I don’t know. I’ve never dealt with something like this before, only heard of it. What _can_ we do?”  
  
Dean began to actually pay attention when Bobby spoke again.  
  
“There ain’t much, honestly,” Bobby admitted. “There are a couple of uh-- spells, and potions, and hell if I don’t feel stupid saying that even after all the years I’ve been doing it.”  
  
“Potions?” Dean repeated, still not looking at them. “What would that do?”  
  
Bobby shrugged. “It would depend on which potion, wouldn’t it, Dean?” He turned back to John. “Always the option of a good old fashioned exorcism.”  
  
John shook his head. “Sam, with the way he is now…he’d have to be so much stronger to make it through an exorcism alive. And he’s only going to get weaker the longer we wait.”  
  
“Well, couldn’t you make him stronger?” Dean asked, finally turning to look at the other men. “Couldn’t you do something or give him something to make him stronger for the exorcism?”  
  
John rubbed his eyes, and took another drink from his beer. “Dean, this isn’t going to be some simple exorcism here. Not like what you’ve done before.”  
  
Dean snorted. “I don’t know about that, Dad, Sammy and I have done a couple rough ones. Bobby, tell him about Meg.”  
  
John raised an eyebrow and looked over at Bobby. “Yes, Bobby, tell me about Meg. How bad was it?”  
  
“For her or for us?” Bobby asked, only half-joking. “I don’t know. For her-- she was a lot weaker then Sam is, and she only lived for about a minute afterwards.”  
  
“But she was already broken!” Dean exclaimed. “Sam-- Sam isn’t. That thing is what’s doing that to him. She fell out of a seven-story building and then she was _shot_! Sam’s strong, Sam can survive this.”  
  
“You’re willing to risk it?” John asked in surprise. “You’re willing to risk Sam’s life because you think he’s strong enough? What if he isn’t, Dean? Huh? What then? You’ve seen me over the years, Dean, you’ve seen my guilt for your mother, and that wasn’t even my fault. You let Sam die, and _you_ won’t make it; and I am not losing both of my children.”  
  
“Dad, we don’t have another choice. If we _don’t_ do this, he _will_ die. It doesn’t matter how strong he is or isn’t, he’s gone. We have to do this. Please,” Dean pleaded.  
  
John’s head dropped and he looked at the wedding ring on his finger. “I don’t want to lose him.”  
  
“I know that, Dad. Hell, neither do I,” Dean said, “but-- do you really want to watch him go through what he’s going through now?”  
  
John looked up at Dean. “Do you think he’d be willing to risk it?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Let me talk to him. I mean, I’m his big brother, I can make him do pretty much whatever I want.”  
  
John chuckled at first, then his face sobered. “Tell me that’s not how you two--”  
  
Dean understood completely what he meant, and shook his head furiously. “God no, I would never do that to him.” He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. “It’s getting late, I think I’m going to head up to bed. If Sam’s awake, I’ll talk to him about it .”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Exorcism?” Sam repeated, face wide with surprise. “You’re serious? Oh my god, you’re serious.”  
  
Dean nodded, then snuggled in next to Sam. “It was Bobby’s idea. Dad said you wouldn’t be strong enough, but I told him--”  
  
“You told him? What did you tell him?” Sam demanded, looking over at Dean.   
  
“I told him you could make it, I told him you’d be okay with it,” Dean replied. “I mean-- you could, and you are, aren’t you?”  
  
Sam closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, that sounded more like a wheeze. “I don’t know, Dean. I mean, I’ve seen what they can do to people. I don’t know if I could make it through that. Isn’t there anything else we can do? Anything safer?”  
  
Dean pressed a kiss to Sam’s cheek, and pulled away, a slight smile on his face. “A spell, Bobby said, or a potion. I guess we could always just wait it out. I mean, we’ve only got, what, thirty-one weeks to go? Can you make it?”  
  
“Tell me you’re joking,” Sam said. “I haven’t even made it through today yet, I don’t think I can take thirty-one weeks of this.”  
  
“What about thirty-one weeks of this?” Dean asked, before leaning down and pressing his lips gently to Sam’s. Sam moaned softly as Dean’s tongue traced his mouth, before slipping inside. Sam moved his tongue against Dean’s languidly, but before long, he was squirming uncomfortably. “Sam?”  
  
Sam picked at his shirt, sweating even more, then. “I’m fine, don’t worry. Just sweating a lot, must be the fever.”  
  
Dean nodded, then kissed Sam again. “Sure it’s just the fever?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “God. I’m dying here, and all you can think about is how hot you make me.”  
  
“Don’t say that,” Dean commanded, back to being serious. “You’re not dying. I’m not going to let you. Sammy, the exorcism…the longer we wait, the weaker you’ll get. If we do this, we have to do it now.” He set his head on Sam’s chest, listening to his heart. “I can’t let you die, Sammy. Please do this. For me? You can completely forget that Dad wants you to live too, if it makes you feel better. Just-- just ignore him, and just live for me.”  
  
“Dean, you're begging me?” Sam asked in surprise. “You haven’t _actually_ begged me since--”  
  
“For me?” Dean repeated, eyes pleading.   
  
Sam yawned, then lifted up an arm and wrapped it around Dean. “Let me sleep on it, Dean. ‘M' tired.”  
  
Dean looked at Sam, then remembered John and Bobby were still downstairs. “I’m going to go to my room, now, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded sleepily, and waved slightly as Dean slipped out from under Sam’s arm and walked across the room. As he opened the door, he turned to look at Sam once more.  
  
“Love you, Sammy,” Dean said softly, before closing the door behind him.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
When Sam woke up, the room was dark. The only light in the room at all was from the window, the moonlight filtering in through the thin curtains. He stretched his arms above his head, then sat up slowly, a little dizzy, but it felt like his fever had gone down. He stood up, equally as slow, and walked to the door, opening it. He rubbed his eyes, then looked up and down the hallways. He didn’t actually know which room was Dean’s, and he didn’t want to wake up Bobby. Or his father, wherever Bobby had stashed him.  
  
Sam walked to the bathroom, flicking on the lights. He walked to the sink and splashed cool water on his face. After relieving himself, and then washing his hands, he flicked the lights back off, and opened the door. He was about to walk back to his own room, when he realized how hungry he was. He walked down the stairs, gripping the banister to make sure he didn’t fall if he got dizzy again. As he got to the foot of the stairs, he heard someone talking, probably in the kitchen. Sam stopped walking, and just stood, listening. He hoped it wasn’t Bobby, because he’d feel a lot less uncomfortable listening in on his own family.  
  
“I know I haven’t done this in awhile Mary,” the voice began.   
  
“Dad,” Sam said softly. He sat down on the bottom stair, leaning his head against the wall.  
  
“--but I think I need your help. Missouri told me what you did for the boys, in Lawrence. You saved Sammy. Well, honey, I think I need you to save him again. Mary, I can’t lose him. I think he already hates me, but I don’t care anymore. Let him hate me, just let him live. Please.”   
  
Sam heard John sniffle, then clear his throat.   
  
“Did you know, Mary? Could you see them, doing what they did? I know that they’re my sons, my flesh and blood, and that-- that I should love them, no matter what. But what they’re doing Mary…it’s wrong. Isn’t it? It is. I don’t care they’re gay, I don’t. You taught me that, Mary, but I don’t think even you can endorse this, Mary. I _want_ to be okay with it, they’re my boys. They’re my sons. I love them both so much.”  
  
Sam bit his lip, and suddenly decided that maybe he shouldn’t be listening to this stuff. He moved to stand up, but a voice behind him stopped him.  
  
“What’s going on, Sam?” Dean asked.  
  
“Shh!” Sam said, turning around.  
  
“What, you’re eavesdropping?” Dean asked, surprised. “What are you doing out of bed anyway? You should be resting.”  
  
“It’s Dad,” Sam answered. “He’s talking to Mom.  
  
Dean sat down on the stair, right beside Sam. “What’s he saying?”  
  
“He asked her to save me. Then he said he doesn’t know how to deal with us,” Sam simplified.  
  
“Us?” Dean asked, confused.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam replied. “You know, _us_. Together. Now, shh, I wanna hear.”  
  
“Is is my fault, Mary?” John continued. “M-- maybe if I had done something different, raising them. Got them their own motel beds, or-- or-- god, Mary, I need your help. Maybe I should’ve remarried after you died. I never could, but maybe I should have. Maybe they needed a woman in the life. Maybe they should’ve spent more time with other people, I shouldn’t have left them alone as much as I did. They were all each other had. Sammy idolized Dean so much when they were kids, was that it? I just-- I can’t do this alone, Mary.”  
  
“We have to talk to him,” Dean told Sam, moving to get up.   
  
“Dean, he’ll just be embarrassed,” Sam said, grabbing Dean’s hand.   
  
“He thinks this is his fault,” Dean reminded Sam, trying to pull his brother up. “He thinks he could’ve _changed_ us.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Maybe he could have.”  
  
Dean let go of Sam’s hand, stepping back in surprise. “What?”  
  
“Dean, I’m not saying he would have; I’m not saying I fell for you because we shared motel beds until I got too tall,” Sam said, a harsh whisper. “But-- maybe? You know?”  
  
Dean sighed, then nodded slowly. “I know. But we have to tell him that’s not what happened. He has to know, before he makes up his mind that it was his fault.” He walked away from Sam, and through the living room, walking into the kitchen. “Hi, Dad.”  
  
John jumped, then wiped at his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Hey! Dean…what are you doing up so late? Or early, I guess.”  
  
“Dad, Sam and I weren’t your fault,” Dean said quickly, wanting to get it out.  
  
John stood up from the table, pushing his chair in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
“Dad, we heard you,” Sam said softly, walking up behind him.  
  
“Sam, you should be in bed,” John said. “You’re sick, okay? You could die. Get back to bed. You need your rest.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Dad, you couldn’t have changed us. This. We love each other.”  
  
“ _Bed_ , Samuel,” John commanded, trying to avoid actually having this conversation.   
  
But Sam just stood where he was. “You can’t just shove this away, Dad. You can’t hide from it.”  
  
John shook his head. “Bed, please, Sammy. As if the baby wasn’t enough, now the-- just go upstairs.”  
  
“I love him,” Dean told John. “He loves me. And you know what? We didn’t expect you to accept it _at all_ , let alone right away, or _anything_. We knew you wouldn’t be happy. But we never thought you’d blame yourself. You couldn’t have stopped this.”  
  
John rubbed at his eyes, and shook his head. “There must have been something. I-- I don’t know. Anything. One thing could’ve made all the difference.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Dad, no. It doesn’t work like that. Remember all the reasons you said you loved Mom? That’s why I love Dean. He takes care of me, Dad. He protects me, and he’s sweet and funny and nice, and he thinks the world of me, and I _love_ him. I would have, no matter what you did.”  
  
“You don’t know that that’s true!” John cried.  
  
“You don’t know that it isn’t!” Dean replied. “Dad, just-- please. Don’t blame yourself for this. _Please_. Don’t accept it, fine. Think it’s wrong, I mean, we know there’s laws against it. We know that morally, it is wrong. But we already dealt with that. We went through it so _many_ times. Over and over. Maybe you should take some time with it, too.”  
  
John wiped furiously at his eyes, trying not to cry in front of his sons. “How long? How long have you two been doing this? And I swear to god, Dean, if you tell me when Sam was even a day under eighteen--”  
  
“I wasn’t,” Sam interrupted.  
  
Dean glanced back at Sam, then looked back to their father. “He wasn’t. He was-- it was after I went back and got him at Stanford. Both consenting adults.”  
  
John nodded. “That makes it...better, I suppose.”  
  
Dean and Sam both nodded.   
  
“Seeing the bright side already there, Dad.”  
  
John tried to smile. “You’re sure it wasn’t me?”  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Sam insisted. “Dad, you were a great father.”  
  
“Yeah, right,” John snorted, rolling his eyes. “Sam, every time we’re together you tell me how much you hate me for raising you boys the way I did.”  
  
Sam blushed slightly, and looked down to the floor. “Yeah, I mean, I-- I wanted a normal childhood. I wanted to stay in one place. I don’t know what I wanted, anymore. But Dad, you took care of us, no matter what. You gave us what we needed, and you raised us-- I mean, I think we’re good people. No, I know we are. And you are, too. I think Mom would be happy with the way we turned out. All of us.”  
  
“She would be,” Dean agreed. “I know she would be. And you know that, too, Dad.”  
  
John stayed still for a moment, before nodding slowly. “You both wanted this?”  
  
Sam nodded, then Dean.  
  
John nodded back, then took a deep breath. “Good. Good, I’m glad. I’m glad you both found someone you love as much as I loved your mother. That’s a lot of love.” He smiled at his sons, then remembered that Sam was up. “Sam, go to bed.”  
  
Sam smiled. “Dad, I’m twenty-three. You can’t make me go to bed.” At John’s glare, Sam weakened. “Okay, fine, I’m going. But I feel better. My fever’s gone down.”  
  
“Good, that’s good,” John replied, and they could both hear the happiness in his voice. “But you still need rest. If not for yourself, then for your baby. Go up to bed, and if you’re feeling a bit better in the morning, you can get up.”  
  
“What about the-- the exorcism?” Sam asked as they all walked out of the kitchen.  
  
“We-- we’ll discuss that,” John answered slowly. “Tomorrow. It might turn out to not even be an option. Now bed. Both of you.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison. As the two of them began walking up the stairs, John called up to them. “Dean…I don’t know how to say this. Um…if you want, you can-- Sam’s bed. You can share. If you want. If he wants.”  
  
Sam and Dean smiled at each other, then down at their father.  
  
“That’s okay, Dad,” Dean replied. “But thanks, anyway.”  
  
“Sam?” John asked in confusion.  
  
“We need our rest, Dad,” Sam answered as they continued up the stairs. “And we don’t want to creep you out, you know, since we assume you already-- well, when you came, and we were upstairs. We just don’t want you to have that image in your head.”  
  
John smiled. “Thanks for that. But you’re carrying his baby, I think I’ll have that image in my head for awhile.”  
  
Sam and Dean tried not to smile as they continued up the stairs.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 8/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** After Sam apparently got better, he takes a turn for the much worse  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

“I thought you said this would creep him out,” Sam said, turning to face Dean.  
  
Dean shrugged, and propped himself up on his shoulder. “I decided I don’t care. Now kiss me goodnight.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, and rolled away from Dean, to face the wall on his side. “Tell me that’s not your best line.”  
  
Dean pressed a kiss to Sam’s neck, and threw an arm over Sam’s side, pulling them close, chest to back. “I don’t have to use my lines on you, Sam. I already have you.” He kissed the spot behind Sam’s ear, and snuggled into him. “Did you hear what Dad said?”  
  
Sam grasped onto Dean’s arm, holding him in place. He yawned, then snuggled into his pillow, eyes drifting shut. “What part?”  
  
“‘You’re carrying his baby’,” Dean answered. “You’re carrying my baby.”  
  
Sam nodded sleepily. “I know. Now, shh, we have to get some sleep before Dad murders us. Love you, Dean.”  
  
“Love you, Sammy.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Where’s your brother?” John asked, looking up from the paper when he heard footsteps on the stairs.  
  
Dean yawned, and rubbed his face. “Still asleep. I got hungry, waiting for him to wake up. What’s good for breakfast?”  
  
“Cereal,” John answered, taking a drink of his coffee. “Lots of coffee.”  
  
“Yes,” Dean quietly cheered, walking into the kitchen. “Look Dad, about last night--”  
  
“Forget about it,” John interrupted. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about your chick-flick moment.”  
  
Dean snorted as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “ _My_ chick flick moment? What about you, old man?”  
  
“Who you calling ‘old man’?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.   
  
“Pretty sure it was you,” Bobby muttered as he walked through the living room into the kitchen.  
  
“Shut up, Bobby,” John snapped. “I can still kick your ass. And yours too, Dean!”  
  
Dean walked out of the kitchen, a mug of coffee in one hand and a bowl of Lucky Charms in the other. “I highly doubt that, Dad. I’m in pretty good shape. But I mean, so are you, you know, for your age and everything.”  
  
Bobby couldn’t contain his laughter as he poured his own coffee.  
  
“Shut up, Bobby!” John repeated. “I’m not even going to ask why you have Lucky Charms.”  
  
“That’s probably for the best,” Dean smiled, before shoving an overflowing spoonful of Lucky Charms in his mouth.   
  
John raised an eyebrow. “Says the man who’s actually _eating_ them.”  
  
Dean shrugged, milk dribbling down out of his mouth and down his chin, his cheeks stuffed with cereal. “It’s good,” he answered, a marshmallow flying out his mouth to land on the coffee table.  
  
John rolled his eyes, and set down his newspaper. “Dean, eat with your mouth closed. Do not speak with your mouth full. I’ve only been telling you that since, oh, I don’t know, I stopped feeding you.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, and wiped the milk off his mouth. He chewed a couple more times, then swallowed. “Ah, that’s some good oats and multi-colored marshmallows.”  
  
“You let him have Lucky Charms?” Sam asked, walking slowly down the stairs.   
  
Dean and John both looked over to the staircase. Dean got up from his chair, but Sam just waved his hand, and continued slowly making his way down.   
  
“I’m fine, just sore,” Sam said. “You worry too much.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, and took his sit. “About my brother who just happens to be pregnant, and, oh yeah, is infected by a demon? Sorry, there’s just something about that situation that makes me worry.”  
  
Sam sighed, then walked over to the couch, taking a seat beside his father.   
  
Dean took a drink of his coffee, then looked at Sam. “Do you want me to get you something?” He moved to stand, but Sam just stared at him.  
  
“I’m _fine_ ,” Sam snapped. He moved to stand, but he grabbed at his head and fell back onto the couch.  
  
John turned quickly to his son, dropping his paper. “Sam?”  
  
Sam’s eyes were squeezed shut, but he still shook his head. “I’m fine, I swear. Just a little dizzy is all.”  
  
“You want a coffee?” Dean asked, standing up. “Lucky Charms?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No, no Lucky Charms.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “I’m sure Bobby has more than Lucky Charms.”  
  
“Actually, I don’t,” Bobby called from the kitchen.  
  
“Sam?” Dean asked. “Coffee?”  
  
Sam nodded, but then pushed himself up from the couch. “I can get it myself.” He pushed by Dean and went to move into the kitchen, but he stumbled.  
  
Dean automatically grabbed onto Sam’s arm, pulling him up. “Are you okay?”  
  
“Just great,” Sam replied sarcastically. “Never better. Now let me go.” As soon as Dean did let go of his arm though, Sam stumbled again. Dean wasn’t quick enough this time to catch him though, and he fell to the floor.  
  
“Sam!” John said in surprise, standing up. He walked over to where Sam had fallen, and knelt beside him. “Sammy, come on, lets get you back up to bed.”  
  
Sam shook his head, and shook John’s hands off of him. “I can take care of myself.” His hands out in front of him, he tried to push himself off the floor, but his muscles wouldn’t work. He fell back to the floor.   
  
“Bobby!” John called. “Get him a drink of water.”  
  
Bobby stood up from the kitchen table and grabbed a glass out of the cupboard and walked to the tap. Filling the glass, he turned the tap off, and walked over to the Winchesters. “Here ya go.”  
  
John took the glass, and held the glass up to Sam’s mouth. “Here, drink.”  
  
Sam opened his mouth, and drank the water down quickly. As much as he hated to, he asked, "Help me up?”  
  
Dean grabbed one arm, and John grabbed the other. They pulled Sam up carefully, then turned him towards the stairs.   
  
“Christ, Sam, how many times am I going to have to carry you upstairs?” Dean joked.  
  
“I can do it myself,” Sam replied, snatching his arms away from Dean and John. He staggered to the staircase, holding onto whatever he could.   
  
“Sam--” John began.  
  
“I can _do it_!” Sam yelled, turning to face them. “I’m not a kid anymore, I can take care of myself.”  
  
“Fine,” John said quietly, taking a step back.  
  
“Thank you,” Sam muttered, grabbing onto the railing. He slowly pulled himself up the stairs, one step at a time. “See, I’m fine.” He shook his head, and continued on. When he reached the top, he turned around, a smirk on his face. “Told you, I can take care of myself.”  
  
“Whatever,” John muttered, walking back over to the couch.  
  
Sam crossed his arms. “Well, Dean, what do you have to say?”  
  
Dean sighed, then shook his head slowly. “We just wanted to help. Maybe you should go back to bed.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, then turned to walk to his room. As he reached for the door handle, he was hit with a wave of pain. His head began to pound, and a sharp pain began in his stomach and then moved down into his legs. He slumped to the floor. He clutched his stomach and curled up onto his side. “Dean,” he called, but his voice could barely work. “Dad!” he tried again, but it came out as only a raspy whisper. As his vision began to darken at the edges, he tried again. “Please.”   
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Maybe I should go up there,” Dean suggested, before taking a bite of the sandwich John had made for their lunch. “He shouldn’t be alone right now.”  
  
“He’d probably just snap at you, again,” Bobby pointed out. “I’ve never seen a guy that moody before; he’s like my first wife whenever she got PMS.”  
  
John chuckled, then took a bite of his own sandwich. “I don’t know, Bobby. Maybe Dean’s right; Sam probably shouldn’t be alone.”  
  
Dean smiled, then got up and walked over to the stairs. He was about half-way up before he saw Sam laying in front of his door. “Sam.” When he brother didn’t move, Dean took only two more steps to cover the rest of the stairs. “Sam!” He dropped to the floor and skidded on the hardwood to Sam’s side. “Sammy. Sammy? Dad! Dad!”  
  
John and Bobby looked at each other before they both jumped up. John ran up the stairs, taking three at a time. When he made it to the top, he saw Dean and Sam on the floor. “What happened?”  
  
Dean looked up at John, and shook his head. “I found him like this. I don’t think he made it into his room. I _knew_ he would’ve slammed the door.”  
  
John dropped beside them, and pulled Sam half onto his lap. “It’s been hours since breakfast,” he said quietly. “Sam? Sammy, can you hear me? We need to get him into bed.” John stood up, and pulled Sam with him. “Get the door.”  
  
Dean jumped up and opened the door wide, walking in, John following behind. He moved out of John’s way and watched as he set Sam on the bed. “What are we going to do?”  
  
John looked back at Dean, then back at Sam. “Samuel, can you hear me? Sam. Bobby, go get more water for him. Get some ice, too.”  
  
“For what?” Dean asked, but John just ignored him.  
  
They both stayed silent, John slapping Sam’s face every couple seconds to try and wake him up. Bobby came rushing in, a glass of water in one hand, and his ice cube tray in the other. He gave the water to Dean, then the ice to John.   
  
John bent the ice cube tray, and a couple ice cubes dropped to the floor. John grabbed them, then got a couple more out of the tray.   
  
“Dad?” Dean asked, taking a step forward.  
  
John grabbed the edge of Sam’s boxers, and looked away. He then dropped the handful of ice into Sam’s boxers.  
  
Sam’s eyes shot open and he gasped loudly, sitting up. “What the--”  
  
“Sam!” Dean cried, running over to the bedside. “Interesting method, Dad.”  
  
John shrugged. “Sam, what happened?”  
  
Sam tried to speak, but only the sound of raspy breathing came out.   
  
“Give him the water, Dean,” John commanded.   
  
Dean sat on the edge of the bed, his hand behind Sam’s head. “Here ya go Sammy, drink this.”  
  
Sam downed the glass quickly, letting out a refreshed sigh. “It all hurt,” he said softly. “It still does. It hurts so bad.”  
  
John turned to face Bobby. “Go find the book we need,” he commanded. “We’re doing this exorcism _now_.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“It hurts!” Sam screamed, clutching at his stomach. “Fuck! God, it hurts so bad. Dean, Dean, you have to help me.”  
  
Dean looked to their father, who was standing over the bed, cringing every time Sam cried out. “Dad, what are we going to do?”  
  
John’s gaze shifted to his oldest son. “We have to try the exorcism. This is our last chance; we wait any longer and he won’t make it.”  
  
“What about the baby?” Sam asked breathlessly, gritting through the pain. “What will happen to my baby?”  
  
John reached down, and brushed Sam’s hair off his forehead, trying to calm him. “I don’t know, Sammy,” he admitted softly. “The baby might not make it. It’s so young, this much stress and the physical trauma-- you could miscarry.”  
  
Sam’s head fell back to the pillows, and he began to cry even louder. “This isn’t fair! This isn’t fair, Dean. Why me?”  
  
Dean just rubbed Sam’s hand, not sure how to answer that question. “Where’s Bobby? What’s taking him so long?”  
  
John looked to the door. “He has to find the book, and in case you haven’t noticed, he has a lot of them. When he comes up, we’ll do this.”  
  
“If it doesn’t work?” Dean asked softly, cringing in pain as Sam squeezed his hand hard. “Then what do we do? What can we try?”  
  
“We’ll worry about that later,” John answered. “Bobby-- finally. What took you so long?”  
  
Bobby just glared at John. “I had to make sure it was the right book, John. Unless you _want_ your son to die.” He handed the book off to Dean, who quickly gave it to John.  
  
“I don’t do Latin,” Dean said softly, turning back to Sam. “It’s gonna be okay, Sammy. I’m here.”  
  
Bobby took a step back as John opened the book to the bookmarker. “You want me to leave, John?”  
  
“You stay,” John commanded. “If we need a different book, you’re the one going to get it.” He cleared his throat, then began to read the Latin from the book. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus , omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio, et secta diabolica.”   
  
Sam screamed in pain, tears running down his cheeks, sweat dripping off his brow. “I can’t-- Dean--”  
  
“I’m here,” Dean said softly, letting go of Sam’s hand to move up further on the bed. He cradled Sam in his arms, holding onto him tightly. “It’s okay, Sam. I love you so much, Sammy.”  
  
John’s eyes began to well up at the sight of Sam in such pain, but he wiped at the tears and continued on. “Perditionis venenum propinare. Vade, satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis.”   
  
The lights in the room suddenly shut off, and a chair that had been behind Bobby skid across the floor to smash into the wall, leaving a sizeable hole.  
  
“Dad,” Dean began, “we have to stop. He’s not going to make it.”  
  
John ignored Dean, and went on with his reading. “Humiliare sub potenti manu dei, contremisce et effuge, invocato a nobis sancto et terribili nomine, quem inferi tremunt.”  
  
“Dad!” Dean cried, trying to get his father’s attention. “Stop!”  
  
John shook his head. “We can’t stop now, Dean. We stop now, and he won’t live. We need to finish it.”  
  
“You finish it and he won’t live!” Dean yelled. “Dad, look at him.”  
  
John looked down at Sam, eyes wide and bloodshot, sweat covering every inch of his body, veins bulging out of his arms and pumping black blood.   
  
“Dad, he’s dying,” Dean finished softly, as his own tears slipped down his cheeks.  
  
John paused for a moment, and looked over at Bobby, who just shrugged.   
  
“I don’t know, John,” he answered truthfully. “He’s in pretty bad shape.”  
  
John looked back to his sons, and shook his head. “We finish it. Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, domine. Ut ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos.”   
  
The bed Sam and Dean were on began shaking, and Dean had to grab onto the headboard to stay on. He tightened his grip on Sam, and looked to John and Bobby pleadingly. “Stop, Dad. Please!”  
  
John just spoke louder over the sound of the bed. “Te rogamus audi dominicos sancta ecclesiae.”  
  
“Dad! He’s fucking dying!” Dean screamed above his father and the bed. “Don’t you care?”  
  
Bobby looked to the floor, then stepped forward, his hand on John’s shoulder. “Maybe he’s right, John. Maybe you should stop.”  
  
“He’s not going to get better,” John gritted, turning to Bobby, tears on his cheeks. “He’s going to stay like this, until that thing kills him. Now, I started this, now I have to finish it. If not to just put him out of his misery.”  
  
Dean heard his father’s last sentence, and let go of Sam. He jumped off the bed, enraged, and grabbed his father by the shirt, pulling him in close. “You’re going to kill him! Stop it! Stop it!” He grabbed the book from John’s hands, and dropped it, before swinging his fist. It met John’s chin with a satisfying _crack_.   
  
John stumbled back a couple feet, and grabbed his face. “Dean--”  
  
Dean just shook his head. “I’m not going to let you kill him.” He turned back to Sam, who was watching them both, breathing heavily, eyes wide. “There’s got to be another way.” He began to walk back to the bed, ignoring his father.  
  
John straightened himself back up, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Dean.”  
  
Dean turned quickly to look at his father. “Dad, no.”  
  
John spoke the last sentence. “Terogamus audi nos.”   
  
Dean and Bobby stared at John in shock as the room went eerily silent. The bed stopped shaking. They all turned to look at Sam.  
  
Sam’s weakened body twitched pitifully, but then his wide eyes turned completely black. His entire body arched off the bed and his head tilted back before he let out a ear-piercing scream. An enormous cloud of black smoke began to spurt from Sam’s mouth.  
  
All three men watched in awe; John holding onto his chin, Dean trying to control his sobs, and Bobby just staring.   
  
The smoke finished coming from Sam’s mouth then disappeared, as Sam’s body fell back to the mattress.  
  
“Sam,” Dean said softly, running to his side. He climbed on the bed and pulled him up into his arms. “Sammy? Sammy, can you hear me?” He let out a shuddering sob, before pulling Sam closer. “Sam, _please_. Please Sammy, you can’t leave me now. I need you. I love you so much, Sammy. Wake up.” He held Sam for a few moments longer before turning to face John, anger clear under his tears. “You killed him. You killed him.” Dean got off the bed, then shoved John. “I told you to _stop_.” He shoved him again. “I told you you’d kill him. You didn’t care. Why didn’t you stop?”  
  
John just stared in shock, not believing that he actually just killed his son. "Sammy," he said softly, tears running over. "Oh my god, Sammy."  
  
"You fucking killed him!" Dean screamed, ready to kill his father. "He's dead!"  
  
John glanced at Dean, and shook his head. "I'm sorry-- I'm so sorry. Oh my god." He wiped at his eyes, and began to sob. "I'm so sorry."  
  
“Dean,” a soft voice came from behind him.  
  
Dean turned around and Bobby and John both looked back to the bed.  
  
Sam’s eyes were blinking wildly, and they were a little red, but the best part was: they weren’t black anymore. He was still flushed, but he seemed to have stopped sweating. His veins weren’t bulging, and they weren’t black, either. “Dean.”  
  
“Sam,” Dean said in disbelief, dropping onto the bed. “You’re alive.” He pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead, holding him there, until Sam began to shift away. “Are you okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, then shifted on the bed, trying to prop himself up against the headboard. “Little stiff,” he said weakly, before chuckling softly.  
  
“Other than that?” Dean asked, running his eyes over Sam’s body. “You’re okay?”  
  
Sam nodded again. “I think so. I’m not sure. I felt good last night, too. What if this-- what if this is like that?”  
  
Bobby shook his head. “I don’t think so. You’ve definitely been exorcised. We all saw it.”  
  
“Dad?” Sam asked, looking to John. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”   
  
Dean glanced back at John, and shook his head. “It’s okay, Sam, he’ll be fine. I just want to make sure you’ll be okay.”  
  
John sniffled, and wiped his eyes, then pushed by Bobby to leave the room.  
  
Sam’s eyes followed his father out of the room, then he looked back to Dean. “Wh-- what’s wrong with him? What happened?”  
  
“I thought he killed you,” Dean said softly. “I punched him. I-- I thought you were dead, or dying. I had to get him to stop.”  
  
Sam just nodded. “I think I’m okay now, Dean.”  
  
Bobby shifted awkwardly. “Well, uh-- I think I’m gonna go offer John a beer. I’m glad-- I’m glad you feel better Sam.” He walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
Dean smiled slightly, then pulled Sam in for a hug. “I was so scared, Sammy.”  
  
Sam nodded, then buried his head in Dean’s neck. “I remember that. I remember you were screaming.”  
  
Dean pressed a wet kiss to Sam’s temple. “If you died--”  
  
Suddenly, Sam pulled back. “The baby. What about the baby? What happened to the baby?”  
  
Dean had almost forgotten that Sam’s life wasn’t the only one at risk during the exorcism. “I-- I don’t know. How will we know?” They both looked down to Sam’s stomach. Dean placed his hand gently above Sam’s bellybutton. “It-- you feel the same. Is that good?”  
  
Sam shrugged, then covered Dean’s hand with his own. “I think we have to wait. Wait and see. But for now, I’m-- I’m tired. Lay down with me, please?”  
  
Dean nodded, then carefully climbed over Sam to lay on the other side, with more room for him to sleep. “I love you, Sammy.”  
  
Sam turned his head to Dean, then kissed him softly. “I love you, too.” He shifted back down on the bed so his head was back on the pillows. His eyes drifted shut, and he was asleep within minutes.  
  
Dean shifted under the sheets; first, he laid on his back, but then rolled onto left side. Next, he rolled onto his right. Finally, Dean shimmied down on the bed, bringing his legs up. He rested his head Sam’s stomach, finally comfortable. He turned his head slightly, and pressed his lips to the golden skin.   
  
“Love you too, baby.”  
  

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 9/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** Sam and Dean argue about their father  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

“Slowly, Sam,” Dean commanded as he walked down the stairs with Sam. “Slowly.”  
  
Sam glared at Dean, and rolled his eyes. “I _nearly_ died. And that was four days ago. I can walk, thank you.”  
  
Dean stopped walking, and just let Sam go ahead. “Well, you’re still bitchy, you must still be pregnant.”  
  
Sam stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to look at his brother. “Don’t talk about the baby like that. Not until we find out for sure if it’s okay.”  
  
Dean bit his lip, then nodded. “Sorry. I-- I don’t really know what to say around you anymore.” He started walking again and joined Sam at the bottom of the stairs. “You make me nervous.”  
  
Sam smiled, then leaned in for a quick kiss. “You can talk about whatever you want. Just not the baby.”  
  
Dean nodded in understanding. “Okay. No baby talk, until we know. Now, come on, you must be hungry. What do you want? We have sandwiches…the stuff _used_ to make the sandwiches--”  
  
Sam shook his head and chuckled to himself.  
  
“--whatever the heck _you_ brought, and then of course, my personal favourite-- say it with me now Sam--”  
  
They said together: “Lucky Charms.” Sam nodded. “I don’t care, I’ll have whatever you have.” They walked together into the kitchen, John and Bobby sitting at the table. Sam smiled. “What’s going on, Dad?”  
  
John nodded in hello, then went back to his sandwich.  
  
“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said, completely ignoring his father. “Any Lucky Charms left?”  
  
Bobby nodded, then gestured to the cupboards. “A couple boxes, I’m sure.”  
  
Sam grabbed a couple bowls, and opened a drawer, taking a couple spoons. He bumped the drawer shut with his hip, then opened the refrigerator for milk. “You know, Bobby, you never did tell us exactly _why_ you have so many Lucky Charms.” He sat down at the table beside his father, setting the bowl, spoon and milk down. “Why?”  
  
Bobby shrugged. “I liked it. Bought so much of it, I got sick of it, though. Thank god you boys came along. I’d hate to throw it out, and the dog doesn’t care too much for it.”  
  
Dean sat down at the table between Bobby and Sam, his hand already in the box of cereal. He grabbed a handful of cereal, then passed Sam the box. “Pour me some, Sam.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, but took the box anyway, and began pouring. “Anything else I can do for ya, Dean?”  
  
Dean glanced over at Sam, a smirk on his face. “I don’t know. Do my laundry, rub my feet, kiss the ground I walk on?”  
  
Sam snorted, and handed Dean his bowl of cereal. “Do you and your ego want to be alone?” He poured the milk in his own bowl, then stuck a spoon in. “Should we leave?”  
  
“Ha ha,” Dean said sarcastically, patting Sam on the back. “I’m glad you didn’t lose your sense of humor, Sam. Oh wait-- you never had one.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes as he stuck his spoon in his mouth. He didn’t put too much in, however, unlike Dean, so he managed to keep it all in his mouth. After he swallowed it down, he turned to John. “So, when are we leaving?”  
  
Dean’s eyes shot over to John, then back to Sam. “Don’t ask him, Sam. He’s not coming with us.”  
  
“What?” Sam asked, looking back and forth between John and Dean. “But Dad, you said you weren’t leaving again. You promised.”  
  
John nodded, then took a drink of his coffee. “That was before.”  
  
“Before what?” Sam demanded.  
  
“Before-- before I--” John tried to stuttered out.  
  
“Before he nearly killed you!” Dean finished. “Okay, Sam? I told him we didn’t need him anymore.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, then pushed his chair back from the table, standing up. “Dean, can I talk to you for a sec? Alone?” He opened the door in the kitchen that led to Bobby’s backyard, and walked outside.  
  
Dean looked up at Sam, and swallowed hard. He got up, and followed Sam outside. He shut the door behind him. “What’s going on?”  
  
Sam ran his fingers through his hair, obviously exasperated, then shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “‘What’s going on?’ Come on, Dean, you know _exactly_ what’s going on. You told our father we didn’t need him anymore.” He began pacing back and forth on the nearly-dead grass. “I must have missed when _we_ had that conversation. Was I unconscious? Asleep? Ignoring you?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Come on, Sammy, a week ago you were begging me to get him out of here. I’m just doing what you asked. What’s the problem?” He sat down on small porch steps, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Well, Sam’s hoodie.  
  
“He’s the only person who can help us!” Sam reminded him. “He said he can deliver our baby!”  
  
“No, that’s not what he said,” Dean disagreed. “He said he’s done this type of thing before, but before he could go any further, you had a fit! Which reminds me, we still haven’t talked about the fact that you almost walked out of here. Without me!”  
  
Sam sighed, then leaned against one of the old junk cars Bobby had in the back. “I was going to come back,” he said finally.  
  
“Good,” Dean nodded. “Glad to hear it. But Sam, you almost left. God, you almost left! You almost left me in the middle of nowhere, with Bobby and our father.”  
  
“Until four days ago, you liked our father!” Sam exclaimed. “You loved him!”  
  
“Until he nearly killed you,” Dean explained. “Sam, I asked him to stop. I begged him to stop. You-- you weren’t going to make it. I _punched_ him, and he didn’t stop.”  
  
Sam looked at Dean in confusion. “Wait, what? I wasn’t going to make it? Wow, well then…I guess I shouldn’t be here, then. You want me to go jump in front of a car, maybe? Take some pills? You know, since I wasn’t going to make it, and all.”  
  
Dean sighed, then rubbed his face. “Sammy, that’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant. God, why do you have to do this _every_ time we fight?”  
  
“Do what, Dean?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. “Disagree with you? Gee, sorry, I thought that was the point of fighting. Apparently, I’ve been wrong.”  
  
Dean pushed himself up off the stairs, walking over to where Sam was now sitting on the hood of the car. "When you get emotional, and take every fucking thing I say out of context, and turn it around on me! You always do it. You always do it, and then I get sick of it, so I walk out, and then when I come back--”  
  
“We have make-up sex,” Sam interrupted, a slight smile on his face. He raised his head, and looked at Dean under his lashes. “Can I help it if you’re so good at it?”  
  
Dean leaned his head back and groaned. “Don’t give me that look, Sam.”  
  
Sam batted his eyelashes innocently. “What look?”  
  
“Oh, that ‘I love you, Dean, and I’m sorry, and I want you to fuck me into the mattress’ look,” Dean snapped.  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You get all that from one look? Wow, you’re smarter than I take you for.”  
  
“Sam, we’re fighting here!” Dean reminded him. “Stop flirting with me. I can’t fight with you when you’re flirting with me. You know I can’t resist it.”  
  
Sam’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips and he smiled slyly. “I know. I’m counting on it. Forgive me, for almost walking out on you?”  
  
Dean sighed, and tilted his head to one side. “I suppose,” he said finally. “But only because you were sick, and you’re gonna have my baby.”  
  
The smile disappeared from Sam’s face. “Dean,” he said warningly.  
  
“Shit,” Dean muttered, mentally smacking himself. Well, mentally kicking his own ass in a back alley would be more like it. “S-- Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t-- it just came out. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”  
  
Sam sighed, then nodded. “It-- it’s okay, Dean. Sometimes I think about it, too, you know? I really want our baby to be alive, Dean. I got so used to thinking of it, thinking about how we were going to get to hold it, and take care of it, and love it…I want to have this baby.”  
  
Dean nodded understandingly, and he stepped forward between Sam’s legs. “I know, Sammy. I was so scared at first, I didn’t want to be a father, but now that it’s like, our baby could be taken away, I want to keep it so bad.”  
  
Sam’s eyes dropped to the hood, and he bit his lip. “How long do you think it’ll take? Before we find out.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not like we can just go to the doctor’s for a pregnancy test or something.”  
  
Sam nodded, but then he lifted his head, a slight smile on his face. “That’s it!”  
  
Dean’s face filled with confusion. “What’s it? I-- wait, no, I don’t get it. You’re going to go the doctor’s?”  
  
Sam shook his head, then jumped off the hood of the car. “No! A pregnancy test! From the drugstore.” He pushed past Dean then ran up to the steps.  
  
Dean shook his head, and wiped at his eyes. “Oh, Christ. Sam, it’s not going to work!”  
  
Sam turned to face him, a large grin on his features. “Dean, I looked it up on the net. It has nothing to do with female hormones, it has to do with whatever the baby’s in. C’mon, let’s go for a drive.”  
  
“A drive?” Dean asked, following Sam up to the house. “Sam, I was planning on leaving today. As in, like, well, leaving. Not going on tampon runs.”  
  
Sam shrugged, then thought for a moment. “We can leave today--”  
  
Dean sighed. “Good.”  
  
“--if Dad comes, too,” Sam finished. “If not, then we stay. Here. With Bobby. For as long as I want.”  
  
“Sam, come on, that’s not fair,” Dean whined, stomping his foot on the ground. “I don’t want him to come.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Then I’ll go tell Bobby we’re going to need a lot more Lucky Charms.” He reached out for the doorknob, but Dean smacked his hand away.  
  
“Sam, he could’ve killed you,” Dean reminded him, crossing his arms.  
  
“But he didn’t!” Sam reminded _him_. “He saved me. If he hadn’t finished the exorcism, I’d probably be dead by now. Or still upstairs, in pain, twenty-four seven. You weren’t going to finish it, Bobby wasn’t going to finish it…you should be thanking him.” He opened the kitchen door, then turned to face Dean as he walked in. “If _I_ can forgive him, why can’t you?”  
  
Dean glanced at Sam, then at John, who was still at the table. “Fine. He comes with us. But only because you asked.”  
  
Sam smiled, then looked at John. “Dad? Is that okay? Will you come with us, now?”  
  
“Uh-- uh--” he looked at Sam, then at Dean, then back at Sam. “You’re sure?”  
  
Sam nodded quickly, and Dean shrugged. “Whatever. If you want.”  
  
John looked at Bobby, who shrugged, and took a drink of his coffee. “I don’t care, as long as you get the hell out of my house.”  
  
“When are we leaving?” John asked.  
  
“Dean wants to leave today,” Sam answered. “And I told him we could.”  
  
John thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Sounds good to me. I can follow you in the truck.”  
  
Sam smiled, and Dean just rolled his eyes.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“What state we heading to, boys?” John asked, once they had their bags all packed and in their respective vehicles.   
  
Sam leaned against the hood of the Impala, and shrugged, looking in at Dean, who was already at the wheel. “I was thinking maybe we-- maybe we could go to Kansas.”  
  
“Kansas?” Dean and John repeated in unison.  
  
“Whoa, Sam, I did not agree to going to Kansas,” Dean snapped. “Pick again. We haven’t been to Tennessee in awhile, let’s go there.”  
  
“You sure about Kansas?” John asked.  
  
Sam thought for a second, then nodded. “If-- if I’m still going to have this baby, I want to have it in Kansas. Come on, Dean, three generations born there. It’s like tradition.”  
  
“I’m okay with it,” John answered.  
  
“Of course you would be,” Dean muttered. “Okay, Sam, I’ll make you a deal: Kansas, but no Lawrence.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. He looked up to the sky, “why me?” He looked back down at Dean. “We don’t have to agree on it right now. We can go to-- I don’t know, Wyoming is always nice, for now. Get a motel room.”  
  
John nodded, then looked to Dean. “Dean?”  
  
“Wyoming it is,” Dean agreed. “Get in, Sam. And Dad, you better be prepared for Little Miss over here to pull us over once an hour to pee.”  
  
John chuckled, then shook his head. “You have to make some sacrifices, Dean.” He climbed into his truck. “I’ll follow, call me on the cell if you need me.”  
  
Sam nodded, then walked to the other side of the Impala, climbing in. Leaning over in his seat, he pressed a kiss to Dean’s cheek. “Thanks for letting him come.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, then turned the key in the ignition. “Yeah, yeah. You do realize the only sex we’re going to have till he leaves will be when he’s out of the room.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “We can always shower together,” he suggested.  
  
Dean smiled, then pulled out of Bobby’s driveway, turning right. “You do like that, don’t you?”  
  
“Always have, always will,” Sam agreed. “Now hurry up, old man; when did you start driving the speed limit?”  
  

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 10/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** NC-17 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** The Winchesters find a town to stay in, then Sam and Dean make a grocery store run  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

Sam’s cell phone began ringing a few minutes after they crossed the South Dakota/Wyoming border. Sam mumbled and his head tossed from one side to the other, but he still didn’t wake up.  
  
“Sam,” Dean said softly, reaching over to shake his brother’s knee. “Sammy, where did you put your phone?” He sighed, then took a wild guess, and shoved his hand into Sam’s hoodie pocket. “Crap.” He rolled his eyes, then gave up the search. He figured it was just his father, anyway, and if he really needed something, he’d call him.  
  
Suddenly, Dean’s cell phone began ringing in his jacket pocket. “Hello?”  
  
“Are we there yet?” came the voice from the other end.  
  
“Ha ha, very mature, Dad,” Dean rolled his eyes, then adjusted his rear-view mirror so that he could see John. “What’s going on?”  
  
“Where we going to stop?” John asked. A firm believer of two hands on the wheel, he was using his shoulder to keep his phone up to his ear.  
  
“I don’t know,” Dean replied. “What’s the nearest town this way?”  
  
“I was thinking we can stop in Newcastle,” John answered. “Just for a night or two. There’s really not that much to do there, it’s pretty small time.”  
  
“Sounds fine to me. Hold on a sec.” He dropped his phone onto his lap, then reached over to shake Sam’s knee again. “Sammy? Sam. Newcastle?”  
  
Sam curled away from Dean in his seat, pressed up against the door.  
  
Dean picked his phone back up. “Yeah, he’s asleep, but I don’t think he’s going to care. Newcastle is fine. You wanna take the lead, here?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” John answered. “You’re actually going to let me pass?” He pulled out from behind Dean and drove up alongside him. Dean checked his mirror, then slowed down, and let John pull in front of him.  
  
“Is that all you wanted?” Dean asked, not really in the mood to talk to his father.  
  
“Yup. I know a motel there, so just pull in whenever I do, ‘kay?”  
  
Dean sighed, then nodded. “Yeah. Bye.” He turned off his phone, then shoved it back in his pocket. He looked back over at Sam, who was still asleep. “I don’t know what you’ve gotten us into, Sammy,” he said softly.  
  
Sam sighed, and then his eyes fluttered open. "Whasgoinon?" He rubbed at his eyes, pushing his bangs out of the way. He sat up straight in his seat, then turned, looking out the back window. "Wait-- where's Dad?"  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, then pointed out the windshield. "Ahead of us. He's taking us to some hole in the wall with a motel."  
  
Sam stretched his legs as much as he could, and groaned. "Can you pull over?"  
  
Dean glanced over at him, worry in his eyes. "Yeah...you okay? Gonna be sick?"  
  
Sam shook his head. "No."  
  
Dean didn't get it. "Pee?"  
  
Sam shook his head again. "No." To answer Dean, he reached down, and pressed the heel of his palm to the bulge in his jeans. The bulge Dean _had_ thought was simply the jeans.  
  
Apparently not.  
  
"Uh, Sammy, I'm not a genius or anything," Dean began, trying to keep his eyes on the road, but he couldn't help himself from glancing over at Sam every other second, "but I have the feeling Dad is actually expecting us to follow him."  
  
Sam bit his lip, and pressed his hand down again, and his head tossed back, just a bit, just enough to get Dean seriously interested in the whole thing. "Dean, we haven't had sex...in a week."  
  
"Trust me, Sam, I am just as aware of that fact as you are," Dean assured him. "And when we get to the motel, I have every intention of locking Dad out of the room for an hour. Unfortunately...we're not at the motel yet."  
  
Sam sighed, then took his hand off himself. Instead, he grabbed his cell phone.  
  
"Sam, what are you doing?" Dean asked.  
  
"Hi, Dad," Sam said, not answering Dean's question. "No, we're fine. Well, actually, I have to use the bathroom, so we're going to stop. Sure, you can just stop where ever you are, wait for us. I mean, you're not that far ahead, and we won't be long. Okay, talk to you in a few." He shut off the cell phone and set in on the dash. "Pull over, _now_."  
  
"What did he say?" Dean asked, but he pulled the car to a stop anyway.  
  
"He'll wait," Sam assured him, unbuckling his seat belt. "Just-- just hurry up and fuck me, or _something_!"  
  
Dean unbuckled his seatbelt, and was immediately on Sam, pressing him awkwardly into the door, his own head bumping the roof. "Fuck, I think I like you all horny."  
  
Sam looked up at Dean from his task of getting their pants undone, a glint in his eye. He pulled his own cock out, already leaking, and bit his lip. Fighting the urge to just jerk off, without taking Dean along for the ride, he took a deep breath, and reached into Dean's boxers, stroking him. "Just-- just--" Sam struggled to get out. "Fuck."  
  
Dean got the message and smirked, before reaching down and grasping them both in his hand. He gasped, and Sam cried out, smacking his head against the window. "You okay?" Dean asked quickly.  
  
Sam nodded his head furiously. "Now c'mon, _please_."  
  
Dean began stroking them quickly, using Sam's precum as their lube, biting his lip, trying not to groan.  
  
Sam threw his head back again, with an audible _crack_ against the window, and Dean could see him wince. His breath was coming in shallow pants, his hands clutching at the front of Dean's jacket. He ignored the dull throbbing from his head, and the ache from his hips being turned so awkwardly, and began thrusting into Dean's hand as best he could, tiny whimpers escaping his throat.  
  
It didn't take long, before Sam let out a tiny, broken cry, and his toes curled in his sneakers, coming into Dean's hand. He took deep breaths, trying to get back to himself, before batting Dean's hand away, and pushing Dean off him.  
  
Dean groaned, and threw his head back on the seat. "Come _on_ , Sammy, no fair!"  
  
"Shut up and drive," Sam muttered, shifting on the seat, trying to get as low as he could, his face down by Dean's open jeans. "He's going to expect us to be driving by now. Drive."  
  
Dean guided the car off the dirt, and back onto the asphalt. "Sam-- I don't think this is the best--" He was cut off by the wet heat that was Sam's mouth, wrapping around the head of his cock. He cried out, and his eyes squeezed shut, before he remembered he was driving. "Definitly _not_ a good idea."  
  
Just then, Sam's cell phone rang, and Dean could see the caller id, reading 'Dad'.  
  
"Fuck," Dean groaned, and this time, not from Sam. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Sam, get up!"  
  
Sam shook his head as best he could, and continued his tiny laps against the head of Dean's cock, his hand stroking the shaft.  
  
Dean cried out, and then muttered 'fuck' one more time before he reached over and grabbed the phone. "Hello?"  
  
"Dean?" John asked, looking in the rearview mirror. "You guys back on the road?"  
  
Dean tried to bite back his groan, taking deep breaths. "Yes--" his voice cracked, "Yes, sir."  
  
John nodded. "Good to hear. We're about an hour from Newcastle now, okay?"  
  
"Yup," Dean said feebly, trying to keep his mouth closed as much as he could, afraid of the sounds that would escape.  
  
"Alright, talk to you later," John said, before turning off his phone.  
  
Dean groaned the second he knew John was gone, and shut off the phone, dropping it on the floor. A white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel with one hand, the other threading through Sam's longish locks. "Sam...Sammy, you have to stop."  
  
Sam pulled off for only a moment, just long enough to speak. "Dean, shut up and enjoy this. You won't crash the car, I trust you." He went back to Dean, tracing his tongue along the vein on the underside. Reaching the top, he pressed his tongue to the spot underneath the crown, before sucking the head back into his mouth.  
  
Dean cried out loudly, trying to keep his eyes open, but they fluttered shut for a few seconds as he spilled into Sam's mouth. "Fuck!" he cried, trembling as Sam continued working his tongue. he blinked his eyes a few times, the road coming back into focus. "Fuck!" he yelled, this time at the sight of John's truck only a few yards in front of them. "Sam, get up!"  
  
Sam lifted his head, tongue coming out to clean off his lips. He wiped at his mouth with the back off his hand, then sat up, eyes widening at the sight of the truck.  
  
"Shit," Dean muttered, zipping himself back up with one hand. "Sam, put it away."  
  
Sam tucked himself back into his boxers, then zipped up his jeans. "Maybe...maybe he didn't notice." He glanced over at Dean, and shrugged. "We can tell him I was tying my shoes."  
  
Sam's phone rang again.  
  
"Shit!" Dean yelled. "Sam, do not answer that. Do _not_ answer that."  
  
Sam put the phone up to his ear anyway. "Uh..." he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Hi, Dad."  
  
"Oh, Christ," Dean muttered.  
  
"Um...yes, sir," Sam said softly, sounding embarrassed. "We know. We're-- okay, yes, sir. An hour. Alright." He turned off the phone, and set it on the dash again.  
  
Dean took a deep breath, then glanced at Sam. "Well?"  
  
Sam took a deep breath also, then glanced over at Dean. "He said...he said..."  
  
"Well?" Dean asked.  
  
"To try and wait until we got to the motel next time," Sam said quietly.  
  
"Christ," Dean said, rubbing at his eyes.  
  
"He wants you to be focused on the road," Sam continued.  
  
Dean shook his head. "I can _not_ believe our father just-- oh my god, Sammy...he knows."  
  
Sam snorted, then rolled his eyes. "I think he already knew. But yeah, I think next time...we'll wait until he can't see us in the rear view mirror."  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. "Just shut up, and get back to sleep Mr. Horny. You'll need your rest-- for when I kick your ass!"  
  
Sam rolled his eyes right back, but settled down in his seat, closing his eyes. He was back asleep within minutes.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean slammed the Impala door, walking over to his father’s truck. “The Stardust Motel? Dad, it sounds like a disco band from the ‘70s.”  
  
John rolled his eyes and leaned against his truck, his bag by his feet. “I’ll have you know, the ‘70s were very good to me." He looked around the parking lot. "Where’s Sammy?”  
  
“Asleep,” Dean replied, gesturing to the car. “He’s been out since...um..." he chuckled softly. "You know."  
  
John took a deep breath. "Yes. I do."  
  
Dean clucked his tongue, then shifted on the balls of his feet. "So...are we checking in now?"  
  
John shrugged. “May as well. You got somewhere else you need to be?”  
  
“No, sir,” Dean shook his head. “Just wondering if I gotta get Sammy up now, or later.”  
  
John pushed himself off the truck, grabbed his duffel, and began walking towards the lobby doors. “I’ll check in, get the keys. You wake up Sammy.”   
  
Dean walked over to the passenger side of the car and opened the door, hoping Sam wasn’t putting _all_ his weight on the door. “Hey, Sammy, time to get up.”  
  
Sam mumbled, then turned his head away from Dean.   
  
“Come on, Sammy, you gotta get up.” Dean knelt on the gravel, and tried to shake Sam awake. Worried that his brother wasn’t waking up, he shook him harder. “Sammy! Sammy, are you okay?”  
  
Sam rolled over to face him, his eyes flickering open. “God, can’t a guy get some sleep around here?” He sat up, and stuck his legs out the open door, stretching them after the long car drive. “Where exactly are we, anyway?”  
  
Dean pushed himself up then offered his hand to Sam. “Newcastle, Wyoming. This,” he said, gesturing to the building, “is the Stardust Motel. Dad’s checking in right now.” He closed the door behind Sam, then opened the backdoor to grab their duffel bags. “You feeling okay?”  
  
Sam nodded as he yawned. He stretched his arms out above his head, then dropped them back down to his side. “Yeah, good. Refreshed,” he said, a fake smile on his face. He took his bag from Dean, then waited while he grabbed his own. Closing the door behind him, they leaned against the car, waiting for John to come back out. “How long are we staying here?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Couple nights, or something, I think Dad said. I was thinking you and me will hit a grocery store tonight or something.”  
  
It took Sam a minute to figure out what he was talking about. “Oh, right. Yeah, sure. What time is it now?”  
  
Dean glanced at his watch. "Four thirty-seven. After supper or something, we’ll go get that test you were talking about.”  
  
Sam chuckled, and shook his head. “You could be slightly more enthusiastic!”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, my entire life I’ve dreamt of buying a pregnancy test with my little brother. Great."  
  
“Got the keys!” John called, walking out of the motel. “Come on, boys.”  
  
Sam and Dean walked over to their father and followed him past other rooms until John checked the keys again, and stopped. “Number twelve. This is us.” He stuck the key in the lock, then opened the door. He flicked on the lights, then walked into the room, setting his bag by the bed nearest the door. “I assume you two don’t mind sharing a bed. I would’ve gotten two rooms, but that’s double the cost.”  
  
Sam and Dean both tossed their bags by the other bed. “It’s fine,” Sam said, dropping down on the bed. He curled up on his side, and shut his eyes. “Any bed’s fine.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, then sat down on the bed by Sam’s feet. “Yeah, it’s no problem, Dad. Sam, you’ve been sleeping for like, sixteen hours. Stay awake.”  
  
Sam shook his head, then grabbed at the edges of the blanket, trying to cover himself up. “Still tired,” he mumbled. But suddenly, he sat up. “Hungry, too.” He grabbed his duffel bag, then pulled it up on the bed with him. He unzipped it, then grabbed the grocery bag he had in there. He dumped out the contents of the bag, and Dean just shook his head.  
  
“What’s all this?” John asked, looking to the seemingly random food items spread out around Sam.  
  
“It’s what he likes to eat,” Dean answered, glancing up at their father. “He uh-- gets some pretty weird cravings, to say the least. What’s on the menu today, Sammy?”  
  
Sam looked over all the items. “I’m not sure. I don’t know what I want.”  
  
Dean reached over and patted Sam on the shoulder. “Eat some Oreos. I’m sure that’ll hold you over till suppertime.”  
  
Sam nodded, then opened the package of Oreos. He took out a couple cookies, then offered the bag to Dean and John.  
  
Dean shook his head, and John said, “No, thanks. I’ll wait till supper.”  
  
Sam nodded, and then began eating his cookies. He laid back on the bed, and closed his eyes, just trying to relax, since it was obvious Dean wasn’t going to let him sleep anymore. “Turn on the TV, or something. The silence is weirding me out.”  
  
Dean reached over to the nightstand, and grabbed the remote. “News, news, cartoon, infomercial, ooh-- Oprah!” He put down the remote, then moved up on the bed, laying down, head propped up by the pillows. “Don’t even think about changing it, you two.”  
  
Sam looked at the screen, then rolled his eyes. “‘How teen girls relate to their mothers’. Wow, Dean, I’m glad you’re making us watch something that has absolutely no connection to us! Change the channel.” He reached over Dean to grab at the remote, but Dean grabbed it and tossed it to John.  
  
“Don’t let him change it, Dad!” Dean pleaded, before Sam started beating him with a pillow.  
  
“Dad, change the channel,” Sam commanded, looking up at their father.  
  
John looked at the remote, then the television, then back at Sam. He sat down on his bed, propped up by his headboard. “I don’t know, Sammy, could be interesting.”  
  
“Ugh,” Sam rolled his eyes and went back to eating his Oreos. “You two are retarded.”  
  
John laughed, and Dean grabbed the bag of Oreos. “Maybe I _will_ eat some. Or all of them! What would you think about that, Sammy?” To prove his point, he shoved four Oreos in his mouth at once.  
  
“I’ll just get more when we go out tonight,” Sam said, snatching the bag away from Dean. “Chew with your mouth closed!”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“What’ll you boys have?” John asked, as they waited in line at the McDonald’s drive-in.   
  
“Happy Meal, Happy Meal, Happy Meal!” Dean replied, banging lightly on the dashboard.   
  
John looked in the rear view mirror at Sam. “Is he serious?”  
  
Sam looked up from the magazine that he found under the seat. “Oh yeah. He’s serious. He like, collects the toys, or something. Don’t ask me.”  
  
“Well, what do you want, Sam?” John asked, driving the car up a bit closer.  
  
“Chicken Caesar Salad sandwich and a Coke,” Sam replied, going back to his magazine. “Ooh, small fries, too. Do you think I could eat all that?”  
  
Dean and John both looked back at Sam, then looked forward again. “I’m sure you can, Sam,” Dean assured him. “You’re six foot four, you could probably eat a lot of stuff.”  
  
Finally, the car in front of them moved up, and they could order. While John was talking, Dean turned to face Sam.   
  
“Are you sure you want to be reading in here?” Dean asked.  
  
“What do you mean?” Sam’s eyes shot up from the page.  
  
Dean made gagging sounds, then clutched at his stomach. “Morning sickness plus motion sickness-- I can’t _wait_ to see how this one turns out.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, then continued reading. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”  
  
John drove a bit further up, before digging his wallet out of his jeans. He grabbed a twenty and a ten, then drove closer to the window. “Where to after this boys?” he asked, glancing at Dean before checking the mirror for Sam.  
  
“Here’s your order, sir,” the young girl in the window said, handing John the large bag.  
  
John handed her the money, then handed the bag to Dean. She gave him his change back, then John smiled goodbye.   
  
“What was that, Dad?” Dean asked, hitting John on the arm.  
  
“What was what?” John asked, pulling out of the parking lot.  
  
“That smile,” Dean teased. “I saw that. You sweet on her?”  
  
John rolled his eyes, then looked at Dean in disbelief. “Yes, Dean, I’m madly in love with the drive through girl.”  
  
Sam chuckled in the back. “She _was_ pretty cute.”  
  
Dean turned his head to look at Sam. “How would you know? You were reading the whole damn time. And don’t call other people cute, it offends me.”  
  
Sam snorted, then dropped the magazine down on the seat beside him. “Oh yeah right, says the guy who flirts with anyone with boobs in a mile-radius. I’m sure me calling a girl cute offends you. Hey, Dad, are we going back to the motel?”  
  
John nodded, then took a sip of his coke. “Yeah, unless you don’t want to. Why, what’s going on?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No, nothing, it’s just, Dean and I were going to hit the grocery store after we’re done. If it’s okay.”  
  
“Whatever,” John replied. “We’ll eat back in the motel, you guys can go out afterwards. Is-- is it like a date?”  
  
Dean nearly choked on his soda, and Sam tried not to laugh out loud. “No, Dad,” Dean said, glaring at their father, “it’s not a date. It’s us not starving. Sam and I don’t really do the whole ‘dating’ thing. We spend all our time together, anyway.”  
  
“Well, I don’t know!” John defended. “How am I supposed to know what you two do?”  
  
“It’s just going to the store, Dad,” Sam replied. “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
John nodded, then pulled into the small parking lot of their motel. He turned off the engine, then climbed out. Sam and Dean followed suit, and walked over to room number twelve.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean pulled into the parking lot of the only grocery store in town. “God, what a hick town,” he muttered, climbing out of the car.  
  
“Dean, shh!” Sam commanded, smacking Dean on the back of the head. “Try not to get us killed here, please. Now, come on.” He brushed by Dean, but stopped when he felt Dean’s hand grab onto his arm. “What?”  
  
“I’ve been waiting for a day to do this,” Dean said softly, before pulling Sam into a kiss. Their lips moved together gently, and Dean’s other hand moved up to the back of Sam’s neck to keep him down. Sam cupped Dean’s head gently, and his tongue flicked out to slip into Dean’s mouth, before he broke the kiss.   
  
“Are you done now?” Sam asked impatiently. “If we’re not back in an hour, Dad’s going to think we stopped somewhere to have sex in the backseat.” He tugged on Dean’s arm, and pulled him towards the store.  
  
“Wait, so-- so we’re _not_ going to stop somewhere?” Dean asked jokingly, following Sam into the store. “Well goddamnit Sam, I may as well have stayed in the room with Dad. What do you want to get first?”  
  
Sam looked around the store, then pulled Dean over to the breads section. “Grab a cart or something,” he commanded. “We’ll go through the whole place.” He grabbed a couple loafs of bread off the shelf, and placed them in the cart. “We don’t actually need that much, do we?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He walked behind Sam with the cart, allowing Sam to grab whatever he wanted. “God, I can’t wait to hit the sheets, I’m tired. Had to drive your ass over a state border.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, then stopped in front of the sandwich meats. “What does Dad like, again?”  
  
“Salami,” Dean answered, grabbing a package of hamburger. “I saw a stove in our room, right?”  
  
Sam nodded, then tossed salami, ham and turkey sandwich meats into the cart. “Yeah. How Dad could afford it-- wait, it’s Dad. I can’t believe a grown man still rips off the credit card companies.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Why not? We do. Sammy, can we hurry this thing up, my legs are dead.”  
  
“Do you want to sit in the cart?” Sam joked, not even turning around to look at Dean. “We could have switched drivers, you know. I didn’t have to sleep that long.”  
  
“Whatever,” Dean muttered. “Milk. Ooh, Pizza Pockets. Uh…anything over here you want?”  
  
Sam shook his head, then began looking at the signs above the aisles. “I-- can we go over there?” He gestured to the aisle that read ‘Feminine Products’.  
  
“Oh, Christ,” Dean muttered. “Can’t you go by yourself? I don’t even know why you’re doing this, it’s _not_ going to work. There’s no way. I will bet you twenty bucks it comes up negative.”  
  
“I’m not entirely sure you have that kind of money,” Sam muttered, leading Dean and the cart to the ‘Feminine Products’ aisle. “Okay, now…pregnancy test, pregnancy test…aha!” He grabbed on off the shelf, and went to throw it in the cart before Dean grabbed his wrist.   
  
Dean snatched the box from Sam’s hand, then began to read from the back. “‘Home pregnancy tests, or HPTs, are designed to detect hCG, a hormone released by the placenta right after the embryo begins implanting into the uterine lining. The hormone is released in a pregnant woman's urine’. Oh, man. This could quite possibly almost work. You think this hCG stuff is in you?”  
  
Sam shrugged, then grabbed the test back from Dean, tossing it in the cart. “Well, fallen angel or no fallen angel, a baby needs placenta, and it said that the hormone is released by the placenta. One of my better ideas, I must admit.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, then quickly pushed the cart as far away from that aisle as he could. “What do we tell the cashier?”  
  
“Mother…sister,” Sam suggested. “I’m guessing you want Lucky Charms.” He grabbed a box, then tossed it in the cart. “I, however, am taking Special K.”  
  
“Old man,” Dean said in a sneeze. “Oh, wow, I don’t know what happened, must have allergies or something.”  
  
“Yeah, allergies,” Sam muttered. “Now, come on, let’s get this done, so we can go back to the room.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“You sure Dad’s asleep?” Sam whispered as Dean quietly closed the bathroom door.   
  
“Snoring,” Dean replied. He sat down on the floor beside Sam, and grabbed the empty test box. “Did you uh-- you know…pee on the stick?”  
  
Sam nodded, then leaned against the wall, yawning. He let his eyes drift shut, and his head lolled to the side, resting on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m tired.”  
  
Dean nodded, then laid his head on top of Sam’s. “Me too. How long do we have to wait?  
  
“Just a few more minutes,” Sam muttered. “Little timer thing, it’ll go off.”  
  
They sat together for only a bit longer, both of them almost asleep, before the little timer rang.  
  
Sam lifted his head quickly, and pushed Dean off him. He shut his eyes, then grabbed the test stick. When he opened his eyes, his expression was unreadable.   
  
“Well?” Dean asked anxiously. “What’s it say?”  
  
Sam handed the test stick to Dean. “Look for yourself.”  
  

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 11/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** It only takes about a minute after the news for one of them to have a freak-out; they leave Newcastle and Sam hears Dean's plan for the future  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

Dean took the stick from Sam, then glanced down at it. “What’s it mean? What do those lines mean?” He looked up at Sam, eyes filled with confusion, but it all became clear when he saw the grin on Sam’s face. “It’s positive?”  
  
Sam nodded furiously, and his smile grew even more. “It’s positive.”  
  
“You’re still pregnant?” Dean asked, making sure he wasn’t missing something here. “You’re still going to have my-- I mean, our baby? We’re going to be fathers?”  
  
Sam nodded again, and he had to bite his lip to keep his grin from growing anymore. “We’re going to have a baby.”  
  
Dean sighed, and then his grin grew to match Sam’s. “It’s not like the first time you told me. I’m happy this time.” He leaned his head back against the wall, then shook his head in disbelief. “A baby. A baby.” He began to laugh, his whole body shaking with the laughter. “I can’t believe it. A baby. A _baby_. Why is it more real now? And what the hell are the odds that test would work?”  
  
Sam sat back on his heels, then shook his head. He rubbed his stomach, then smiled again. “We’re going to have a baby.”  
  
Dean reached his hand out to Sam’s stomach, but stopped before actually touching him. “Can I--”  
  
Sam nodded, then grabbed Dean’s hand, placing it on his bare stomach. “Our baby’s in there.”  
  
Dean studied Sam’s stomach in wonder. It was so different now, this time, hearing the news. Before, all they could do was worry, about why it had happened, and what it would do to Sam, but for the time being, Dean couldn’t see any problems. “Hi baby.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sam’s stomach. “I love you, Sammy.”  
  
“I love you too,” Sam replied, looking down at Dean. “Kiss me?”  
  
Dean lifted his head from Sam’s stomach, then looked Sam in the eyes, who was looking back, green eyes hopeful. “You know you don’t have to ask.” He leaned in, and Sam met him the middle, bringing their lips together in a bruising kiss. Sam wrapped his arms around him and pulled him down on top of him; Dean planted his hands on the linoleum floor.  
  
Sam tilted his head back and Dean’s lips slid off his, and began pressing soft kisses all over Sam’s face and neck. “Wait, wait, _wait_!"  
  
Dean lifted his head, and looked down at Sam. "What?"  
  
"D-- Dean, how-- we’re going to have to do so much," Sam said.  
  
Dean sighed, then shook his head. “Yeah, but I mean, we’re not alone. And Dad’s done this before, I bet he knows something.”  
  
“Money,” Sam mumbled to himself. “Dean, where are we going to get the money for a kid?” He sat up abruptly, pushing Dean off him.  
  
Dean put his head in hands and began shaking it back and forth. “No, no, no, no, no. Sammy, this is supposed to be happy time! No foreseeable problems!”  
  
Sam pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Dean, a baby! That’s all having a child is, foreseeable problems.”  
  
Dean raised his head and just stared at Sam. “Well, thank you for _that_ , Negative Nellie. I’m supposed to be the depressing one during this thing. You’re supposed to be the happy one! The mom! Mom’s are always happy during these things.”  
  
Sam took a deep breath, then back against the wall, his eyes closed. “I can’t do this,” he said softly, and Dean wasn’t entirely sure Sam had meant him to hear it. “We can’t do this.” He opened his eyes, which were shining brightly with tears.  
  
“No!” Dean cried out at the sight of Sam’s tears. “Happy, Sam. You’re supposed to be happy. You were happy. You were happy when I wasn’t, and now that I am, you’re all emo on me. A minute ago, you were squealing from the rainbows and happy-- what’s wrong?”  
  
Sam shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting his tears to spill over. “Everything. Everything’s wrong.” He shook his head, and wiped at his eyes. He let out a small laugh, but it sounded more like a sob. “How are we supposed to take care of a baby? I’ve never even held one before!”  
  
Dean sat back on his heels, and sighed. “Well, I took care of you. I know how to do it. And I can show _you_.”  
  
Sam snorted, then wiped at his eyes again. “Dean, we can’t take care of a kid. Sometimes, we barely have enough money to feed us! How are we supposed to feed a kid? Or give him clothes, or-- or-- Dean, what have we gotten into?”  
  
Just then, there was a knock at the bathroom door. “You boys okay in there?” John called through the door.  
  
Sam and Dean glanced at each other, before Dean pushed himself up off the floor and opened the door. “We’re fine, Dad,” Dean said, brushing past his father.  
  
John watched Dean as he walked behind him, then looked back to Sam. “What happened? Sammy, why are you crying?”  
  
Sam grabbed the pregnancy test and tossed it at his father, before his head dropped forward and he began sobbing.  
  
“You’re pregnant,” John said softly, looking the stick over. “So? You knew that.”  
  
“Well, he’s decided to pick now to have a freak-out!” Dean snapped from his bed, where he had begun to clean his guns.  
  
John sighed, then walked into the bathroom, and kneeled in front of Sam. “Sam? What’s going on?”  
  
Sam raised his head, and sniffled. He wiped furiously at his eyes, not wanting his father to see him cry. John had never been a big fan of his children crying. “It’s different now,” he said finally, looking up at John.  
  
“Why?” John asked softly. “What’s different?”  
  
“Before, all I had time to worry about was-- was making it through,” Sam explained. “We had to find out what did it, and-- and what was going to happen to me. I was dying! It was about me! But now-- now it’s just the baby. And I started thinking about the money, and that I don’t know how to take care of baby. Dad, I can’t do this.”  
  
John bit his lip, then pulled Sam in for a hug. He cradled Sam gently, and Sam quickly found the position they had hugged in when Sam was just a kid. His head pressed to John’s chest, one hand clutching at his shirt, the other around John’s neck. “I was scared too,” John said finally. “When I found out your mom was going to have Dean. I didn’t know what to do. I was just a kid. I kept thinking we’d never have enough money, or that somehow, I’d fail him. And then just when I got used to him, you came along.”  
  
Sam laughed a little, but didn’t move from his spot, or stop crying.  
  
“Then I just worried all over again,” John continued. “Sam, everybody gets scared at times like these. And maybe, maybe I wasn’t the best father, but I did what I could with what I had, and you and Dean will just have to do the same. You’ll make it, Sammy.”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked, lifting his head a little.  
  
John nodded. “Yeah. Because everything, all the fears, it’ll all go away the second you see your baby for the first time.”  
  
Dean may have been sitting on his bed, trying his hardest to calm back down after everything, but he could still hear every word John was saying. He set his gun down, and got up, walking slowly over to the doorframe. He leaned against the wood, and watched John with Sam. John had always been more comfortable hugging, or sharing his feelings with Sam. Dean was the tough little soldier, Sam was the who needed taking care of. He was his little Sammy, after all.  
  
“You’re a Winchester,” John reminded him, “and us Winchesters always make it through.”  
  
Dean cleared his throat, getting the attention of both Sam and John. “He’s right, you know. If anyone can do this, it’s us.”  
  
Sam pulled away from John, and looked up at Dean. “I’m sorry, Dean.”  
  
“For what?” Dean asked, wetting his lips. “I’ll be fine.” He offered a hand to Sam, and pulled him up. “C’mon, I’m tired, and we already woke Dad up. We may as well to try to get some sleep ourselves.”  
  
Sam nodded, and allowed himself to be pulled to their bed. He laughed when he saw Dean’s guns spread out on their bed sheet. “You and your guns.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, then picked up his guns, moving them out of the way so that Sam could lay down. “You and your mood swings.” He put the guns away, then shut off the lamp beside the bed. “Night, Dad,” he said, before climbing under the sheets beside Sam.  
  
“Night, boys,” John said, turning off the bathroom light. He climbed into his own bed, and slowly drifted off to sleep.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Sammy?” Dean asked, even his whisper sounding loud in the dead of night. “You awake?”  
  
Sam didn’t answer, just rolled over in their bed so that he was half-laying on Dean, every inch of one touching the other. One hand, up by his head, gripped onto his pillowcase; the other was splayed out on Dean’s chest. He made a soft sound in his sleep, a light snore, and Dean felt Sam’s face break out into a smile against his neck. Sam snored again, then rolled even more onto Dean. His lips smacked together in his sleep, then he groaned low in his throat.   
  
Dean reached a hand over to play with Sam’s hair. He ran his fingertips through the soft strands, then began twisting the ends.  
  
Sam groaned again, then reached up and smacked Dean’s hand away. “Stop it,” he mumbled into Dean’s neck, before throwing his arm back over Dean’s chest. “Freak.”  
  
“You get a haircut, maybe I wouldn’t wake you up in the middle of the night to play with your hair,” Dean explained.  
  
Sam sighed, still tired, and wanting to go back to sleep. He rolled off of Dean to lay on his side, but still faced his brother. “It’s not my fault you’re obsessed,” he said softly.  
  
Dean rolled onto his side, to face Sam. “I’m obsessed with everything about you,” Dean admitted softly, running his fingers up Sam’s side.  
  
Sam arched away, the ticklish feeling too much for him. “Don’t, Dean, you know I hate that. What time is it?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Late. Early. Whatever. Sorry I woke you up, I really didn’t mean to.”  
  
Sam shrugged back, then snuggled in again against Dean’s chest, one hand on Dean’s side, the other curled between them. Sam tucked his head until Dean’s neck, then pressed a kiss to Dean’s collarbone. “‘S okay,” he muttered softly, and Dean could tell he was close to falling back asleep. “Don’t make a habit out of it. Now let me go back to sleep.”  
  
Soon, Sam’s breathing evened back out, and the light snoring returned, letting Dean know Sam had fallen back to sleep.  
  
Dean laid there, arms wrapped around Sam, and tried to get to sleep, but his mind just wouldn’t cooperate. He couldn’t stop thinking, but eventually, just as the first rays of light came in through the window, Dean drifted off.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
They stayed in Newcastle for a couple more nights, longer than they had expected but Sam’s stomach had decided to lurch every time he moved, and John decided driving wouldn’t be the best for him. They packed up and got on the road again early on the seventh of September. Sam still couldn’t convince Dean to go to Kansas, but he would give Sam Colorado.   
  
“Dean, please,” Sam pleaded as they passed a sign on the highway that read ‘Kansas’.  
  
“No,” Dean repeated, for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Sammy, I can’t go back there. You made me go back there once--”  
  
“And you were _fine_!” Sam reminded him. “Dean, I want our baby to be born in Lawrence.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes then just sped up on the asphalt, passing every sign that said anything about Kansas. “You’re what? Seven weeks along? Two months? Christ Sammy, calm your ass down. I think we can make it Kansas in seven months, thank you!” He turned his head away from Sam, and muttered, “Unless you’re driving.”  
  
Sam smacked Dean’s arm. “I heard that!”  
  
“We’re just taking the scenic route, is all,” Dean explained, turning back to Sam. “The long way, if you will.”  
  
“We started in South Dakota, and we want--” Sam began.  
  
“No, _you_ want,” Dean interrupted.  
  
“--to get to Kansas,” Sam finished. “There’s only one state between them! How long exactly, is this ‘long way’ going to take?”  
  
Dean shrugged, then counted on his fingers. “Oh, I don’t know…seven months, give or take a day.”  
  
“Dean!” Sam yelled, before smacking the dashboard. “Please! This is all I want, for our baby to be born in Lawrence. That’s all I want. Why can’t you just give me that?”  
  
“You’ll get that!” Dean snapped. “I’ve got our little road-trip all planned out here. After Colorado, we’ll go to Utah, then after that I finally get to go all Rainman on your ass. It’s Vegas, baby.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No, Dean. _No_! I don’t want to go to Utah. What the hell are we going to do in Utah? We don’t even know anyone in Utah!”  
  
Dean smiled slyly, winking at Sam. “Hot Mormon girls,” Dean said, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.  
  
“Oh, fuck you, Dean,” Sam muttered, crossing his arms.   
  
“Oh Sammy, I’m just joking. You know that.” He reached over and patted Sam’s shoulder, before Sam jerked away. “I don’t need a hot Mormon girl anymore. I have you now.”  
  
“Not if you drive me all around the fucking country, you won’t have me,” Sam snapped. “I am not in the mood to be driven around all damn day, just because you’re trying to avoid going home!”  
  
“Sam, where were you raised?” Dean asked suddenly.  
  
Sam looked at Dean. “Uh-- what?”  
  
“You keep calling Lawrence home,” Dean pointed out. “How long exactly did you live there for?”  
  
Sam sighed, then uncrossed his arms, and began playing with the strings on his hoodie. “Seven months,” he shrugged.  
  
“Six months, and twenty-eight days, exactly,” Dean answered. “Lawrence isn’t your home. We moved, remember? And you never went back.”  
  
Sam nodded, slowly, then glanced up at Dean. “It’s _your_ home. It’s Dad’s. I mean, does it really matter that we moved when I was a baby? Besides, when we were growing up we went back to Lawrence like, every month to see Grandma and Grampa, before they died. Just please, take us to Lawrence. I bet Missouri would want to meet the baby.”  
  
“Oh fuck, that crazy woman is not meeting our baby,” Dean muttered. “I mean, great, great, yeah, Missouri…how’d I forget about her? But Sam, you need to listen to me. After Nevada…California. You get to talk to some college friends. Then, oh yes, it’s Mexico. I swear Sam, you need to go to TJ at least once before you’re all tied down and boring.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, then rubbed his face in exasperation. “You mean, like you will be?”  
  
Dean ignored Sam’s comment. “After Mexico, we head up to _New_ Mexico. You know, compare which one is better.”  
  
Sam lifted his head from his hands. “You do realize that Mexico and _New_ Mexico have nothing do with each other, right?”  
  
Dean just glared at Sam. “Pfft, you totally know they do.”  
  
“Dean, even _you_ aren’t that stupid,” Sam muttered.  
  
“Maybe…I…am,” Dean said slowly. “Now, after that, Texas. Dallas? Houston? Huh, huh? Then I’ll  
take us up to Arkansas. After that--”  
  
“ _No_ ,” Sam interrupted. “No, Dean. No. I’m not doing it. I’m not letting my ass, my _pregnant_ , mood-swinging ass, get dragged around this continent. After Colorado, which you drove us to for some inexplicable reason, we’re going to Kansas. No ifs, ands or buts about it.”  
  
“Oh, man,” Dean whined. “Come on Sam. Nevada. Give me Nevada. Give me Vegas, before we have to drag a kid everywhere. Vegas. Once.”  
  
Sam sighed, then stayed silent for a minute, thinking. “We’ll go to Vegas on January twenty-fourth.”  
  
“My birthday?” Dean asked. “Oh come on, Sam. It’ll be too late by then. You’ll be all, big and bloated, and pregnant looking. I’m not going to go to get stared at.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Sam said for the second time since they began this argument. “How do you think I’m going to feel? Sure, you’ll be the guy with me, but you’ll still look good, you’ll still have your muscles. I’m actually going to be the one who looks like he has a beer belly. _I’m_ going to be the one they stare at, while they pity _you_ for being with me.”  
  
Dean sighed, then looked over at Sam. “I’m sorry, Sam. I wasn’t thinking. And who cares if everyone looks at you? I’ll still think you look gorgeous. You’ll still be the sexiest guy I’ve ever met.” He reached over, and patted Sam’s stomach. He put his hand back on the wheel, then shook his head. “You keep bringing out the chick-flick in me, Sam. Christ, I’m turning into a woman.”  
  
“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam told him, leaning over to give him a quick kiss. “You’re still the sexiest guy I’ve ever met.” He sat back in his seat, a grin on his face. “We’re turning into an old, married couple.”  
  
“How do you mean?” Dean asked, glancing over.  
  
“We always end up fighting,” Sam explained. “What if you get bored with me? Would you leave me?”  
  
“Well that’s just not going to happen,” Dean answered, shaking his head. “I’m not going to get bored with you. Besides, me breaking up with you would lead to some _very_ awkward conversations around the dinner table.”  
  
Sam smiled, before clutching at his stomach. “Dean-- pull over.”  
  
“Christ,” Dean muttered, pulling off the side of the road. “Well, hurry up then.” Dean’s cell phone rang, just as Sam opened the door and stuck his head out. “Hey, Dad. No, he’s fine, as I’m sure you can see. Okay, talk to you later.” He closed his phone and set it on the dash. “Just a little mommy issue, right Sammy?”  
  
Sam let up puking for a few seconds to lift his head. “Call me ‘mommy’ again, and I’ll kick your ass.”  
  
“Hey Sammy, you know what’d be good right now?” Dean asked, a smile on his face. “Sautéed worms. With sour cream.”  
  
Sam looked at Dean in confusion, before his stomach lurched again and he understood. He retched for a about a minute or so, before he wiped his mouth and sat back up, closing the door. “Sorry.”  
  
Dean just rolled his eyes, then patted Sam on the knee. He pulled the car back onto the asphalt and continued to drive. “It’s fine. Just as long as you never, _ever_ do that in my car. I don’t care how pretty you are during sex, I’m not cleaning your puke off my seats.”  
  
“Whatever,” Sam agreed, nodding his head. After they were driving for a couple more minutes, Sam smiled and looked at Dean under his bangs. “You think I’m pretty?” He batted his eyelashes, then twirled his hair. “Why sir, I do declare you are flirtin’ with me!” he smiled, a Southern belle accent coming out. “But seriously dude,” he began, dropping the accent, “you think I’m pretty?”  
  
“Hell yes,” Dean nodded once.   
  
“Good, ‘cause if you said no, I’d have to kick your ass,” Sam informed him. “And no jokes about my big feet.”  
  

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 12/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** They end up in California; Dean doubts Sam's happiness  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

“Kansas,” Sam insisted. He grabbed Dean’s phone from his hand and put it up to his own ear. “Dad, make him choose Kansas.”  
  
“I can’t make Dean choose anything,” John said, but really, John didn’t want to go to Kansas anymore than Dean did. “Put Dean back on the phone.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, then handed Dean his phone back. “He wants to talk to you again.”  
  
“Dad, I don’t want to go,” Dean said, the second the phone was back to his ear.  
  
John nodded understandingly, before he remembered Dean couldn’t see him. “I know, son, neither do I. But Sammy really wants this.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “No. Dad, I can’t do it. Maybe you could take him.”  
  
“While you do _what_?” Sam demanded, smacking his hand against the dashboard. “Ugh. Give me the phone back; you shouldn’t be on the phone while you’re driving anyway.”  
  
“Thanks for that report, Officer Safety,” Dean snapped, taking his phone away from his ear for a moment. “Now shut up, you’re distracting me from the road. Dad, c’mon, do not make me spend seven months in a place I hate to be. I tried to tell Sammy we’ll get there eventually.”  
  
“Give Sammy the phone,” John said, turning the wheel with one hand. “Sammy, he said we’ll get there eventually. Do you really want to stay in Kansas for seven months, plus however long it takes to get you better?”  
  
Sam dropped his head into the hand wasn’t holding the phone and sighed. “I guess not. So where are we going to go?”  
  
“What do you think about California?” John asked, now holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, figuring he needed two hands for the highway.  
  
Sam glanced over at Dean and mouthed ‘California’. Dean thought about it for a moment, then shrugged, before nodding. “Yeah, California’s fine to us.”  
  
“You wanna check out Palo Alto?” John asked.  
  
“No!” Sam cried into the phone. “I mean no, no that’s fine. I can’t-- I can’t face them, Dad. Not after Jess, I didn’t even say goodbye to any of them before I left. I think it would be best if we stayed away from Palo Alto.”  
  
“Alright,” John nodded, understanding completely. “Tell your brother to lead the way.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Welcome to California,” Dean muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck, thank god. How long has it been since we slept?”  
  
“Almost a day,” Sam muttered, his long legs almost pressed to his chest the way he was sitting, legs up against the dash. “Need a hotel, like, now.” His head slumped to one side and Dean was only worried that he passed out for about a second, before Sam spoke again. “Sex would be nice.”  
  
Dean had to laugh at that, even if he was almost dead at the wheel. “That’d be fucking great. What do you say, after we get some sleep, we take a nice, long, shower?”  
  
Sam groaned, and lifted his head, a glint in his eye. “That’d be _very_ nice.” He reached out one long arm to rub Dean’s thigh, hand creeping upwards from his knee, before Dean jerked his leg. “You okay?”  
  
“Just tired,” Dean replied, “and I’d prefer not to crash my car and have to tell Dad you were giving me a hand job. Wait till that shower.”  
  
“Will you fuck me?” Sam asked softly, watching Dean from under his lashes.  
  
Dean bit his lip and took a deep breath, trying not to get all hot and bothered now, knowing they wouldn’t be able to do anything for at least a few more hours. “Fuck, yes. You’ll have to stay quiet though.”  
  
Sam snorted, and rolled his eyes, his arm dropping back to his side. “I’m not worried about me. You’re the one who’s always begging, and whimpering…I swear, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”  
  
“Whimpering?” Dean asked in shock. “I do _not_ whimper! I am a grown man. Grown men do not whimper.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Well, you do, so deal with it. I mean, I do too. Maybe it’s a Winchester thing. Hey!” He reached up to the dash and grabbed Dean’s phone. “Let’s call Dad and asks him if he does too.”  
  
“Don’t” Dean reached over and smacked his cell phone out of Sam’s lap. “Don’t you dare. He’d kill you, and then he’d kill me. I don’t think I’m willing to make that kind of sacrifice.”  
  
Sam laughed, then threw the cell onto Dean’s lap. “I was just joking. I’d never ask Dad. Just the thought of him having sex--” he shuddered, “creeps me out. That is not a pretty thought.”  
  
Dean lolled his head over to look at Sam in disbelief. “You do realize we’re his children, right? How the hell do you think we got here?”  
  
Sam looked up to the roof the car for a moment, pretending to think about his answer. “Uh-- I’m not sure, but I like to think it involved a test tube. Makes me sleep easier.”  
  
Dean smiled and chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Hey-- what are we going to tell our kid?”  
  
Sam looked out the window, watching the highway go by. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Well, men don’t usually get pregnant,” Dean reminded him. “So, do we tell them we adopted them? A-- and what about the fact that we’re related? Are we going to tell them we’re brothers? How are we going to deal with that?”  
  
Sam shook his head, but kept looking out the window. “Dean, I had a near mental _breakdown_ the other night. Please, don’t give me something else to worry about. We’ll deal with it when it comes.” He turned to face Dean, a slightly sad look in his eyes. “You know how Dad was talking to Mom, that night at Bobby’s?”   
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, sure. What about it?”  
  
“Do you think--” Sam began, before taking a deep breath and starting again. “Do you think she thinks it’s bad too?”  
  
Dean glanced over at Sam and shook his head. “Nah. She-- she’d want us to be happy. She’d be happy for us. Don’t worry about it, Sam. She loved us. Hell, she saved us in Lawrence, and we had already started doing _this_ ,” he gestured between them, “she must’ve known. But she saved us anyway. Don’t worry about it.”  
  
“You sure?” Sam asked, eyes in full puppy-dog force.  
  
“Of course I’m sure,” Dean assured. “Why are you so nervous and down all the time now? It scares me a little.”  
  
Sam yawned, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I just-- it’s just the way I feel. It’s probably the baby or something, like the mood swings. I’ll be fine.”  
  
“Alright, good,” Dean nodded. “I’m glad. Because Sam, I meant it, it does scare me. You’ve never been like this, not even after--” he cut off abruptly, and glanced at Sam, who was watching him. “You know what? I’m sure you’re right. Just-- it’s just the baby. Nothing to be worried about. Just to be sure, I’ll look up depression during pregnancy on the computer.”  
  
“After Jess, right?” Sam asked. “That’s what you were going to say.”  
  
Dean sighed, and paused a moment before nodding, a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. “Yeah. I don’t know, I shouldn’t’ve went there. But Sam-- I don’t want to talk about this right now. Lets talk about something happy, _please_.”  
  
“Fine,” Sam muttered, propping his legs up against the dashboard again. “What do you want to talk about?”  
  
“Oh, hell, I don’t know,” Dean replied. “The baby-- wait, mental breakdown, right. Moving on. Uh…okay, I’m going to think of something. We can go swimming! In the ocean. Do you remember how excited you were the first time you saw the Pacific, Sammy?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “It kind of loses it’s novelty when you see every other body of water in the States, but yeah, I remember. I remember I didn’t know how to swim so I had to stay on the beach with Dad while you swam.”  
  
“Christ, Sam,” Dean muttered. “Happy! Please, think of one time in life that you were happy. Really, truly happy. Then, we’ll reminisce.”  
  
Sam closed his eyes, and stayed silent, actually thinking about it. Finally, he said, “I was eleven, and it was your sixteenth birthday. Dad gave you the Impala.”  
  
“ _That_ is your happy moment?” Dean asked in disbelief. “Why? _I_ got the Impala, not you.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. I just remember you were so happy, so I was happy.”  
  
“I meant something that made _you_ happy,” Dean explained. “C’mon Sammy, there’s must’ve been something.”  
  
“First time you kissed me,” Sam said softly, opening one eye to watch Dean’s reaction. “Dean, why are we doing this? I’m a happy person! I just-- you know I’m a happy person. It’s just now, I just feel different. I’m fine, I promise. I’m still Happy Sam. I’m just Happy Sam mixed in with Hormonal Sam.”  
  
“You promise?” Dean asked, turning to glance at Sam. “You’re happy?”  
  
Sam nodded. “I am, I swear. Well, not happy you’re dragging my ass all around the Western states, but I think that’s something I can learn to live with. But other than that, I’m happy.”  
  
Dean nodded once, then yawned. “Glad to hear it. Now come, tell me more stories about me being happy making you happy. Gotta get my chick flick moment quotient out of the way now.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean awoke as the car came to a jarring stop. His head snapped forward and he banged into his knee, which was propped up against the dash. He groaned, then rubbed his forehead. “What the hell, Sam? Who taught you to drive?”  
  
Sam was already out of the car, grabbing their bags from the backseat. “You did. Now come on, get up.”  
  
Dean’s foot slipped off the dash back to the floor, and he rubbed at his eyes. He sighed, then tiredly reached up his arm to open the door. He stumbled out, then followed Sam and John like a child to their motel room. “Where are we?” he asked, before letting out a loud yawn.  
  
“Los Angeles,” Sam answered, handing Dean his bag. “You were dead the entire ride after we switched. We were going to stop and get something to eat, but we knew you’d bitch the whole time once you woke up.”  
  
John pushed open the door, then walked inside, not bothering to kick off his shoes. “Drop your bags, and c’mon, I’m hungry.”  
  
Dean yawned, then wrapped his arms around himself, still tired. “You couldn’t’ve let me sleep for another ten minutes?” He yawned again, then climbed back into the Impala, passenger’s side. “You can drive, Sammy.” It took him about ten seconds for him to realize that Sam wasn’t in the Impala, and that they were in fact, taking the truck to get food. “Well, Christ,” he muttered, opening the door. He walked slowly to the open door of the truck, and allowed Sam to pull him in. “I’m not a morning person, you know that,” Dean mumbled sleepily, his head resting on Sam’s shoulder. His eyes fluttered shut, and John and Sam began chuckling.   
  
Sam reached over Dean and pulled the door shut. He glanced quickly at John, who was watching the road, then pressed a quick kiss to Dean’s head, before ruffling his hair. “I know, Dean. Where we gonna eat, Dad?”  
  
John glanced at Sam, then turned the wheel. “Little diner we passed on the way here. I think we need to get some coffee in him before he breaks.”  
  
Sam smiled, then looked down at Dean. “I think he’s asleep again.”   
  
John snorted, and rolled his eyes, stopping at a red light. “How are you feeling, about the whole Kansas thing? Get him to change his mind yet?”  
  
Sam shook his head, hair flying into his eyes. “No, his mind has yet to be changed. I think mine has though.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” John glanced over at Sam before looking back to the road. “What are you thinking now?”  
  
“I love California,” Sam said simply. “What do you think Dean would say about having the baby here?”  
  
John nodded slowly, thinking for a moment. “Well, you’d have to ask Dean, but I think as long as it’s not Lawrence, he doesn’t care. Are you sure _you_ ’d be okay with that? I’m sure you already have a lot of memories here, and I know they’re not all good.”  
  
Sam sighed, and rubbed at his eyes. “I-- I can’t keep ignoring it, Dad. Ignoring her. I had a life here, before everything, but I don’t have that life anymore. I want a life here, with Dean.” He looked down again at Dean, who had shifted off him and slumped against the door. “You too. I mean, you’ll visit us, and the baby, right?”  
  
“Of course,” John answered, before pulling over the curb into the tiny diner parking lot. “My only chance to be a grandfather. Of course I’ll be around. You know though, if you have the baby here, you may as well just get a house, or an apartment, or _something_. You can’t live in a motel, contrary to popular belief.” He pulled to a stop, turning the key in the ignition. “Wake him up, would ya?”  
  
Sam shook Dean slightly. “C’mon, Dean, time to eat. Food. Yum.”  
  
Dean just mumbled and tossed his head back and forth.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, then shook Dean again. “Coffee. Mmm, caffeine. C’mon, Dean…hot waitresses serving hot coffee.”  
  
“Just hit him!” John called from outside the truck.  
  
Sam sighed, then slapped Dean, not-so-lightly across the face.   
  
Dean’s eyes shot open and his hand flew to his cheek. “I was awake!” he declared, sitting up. “Christ, give a man a second to open his eyes before you slap him.” He looked around outside the truck. “Where’s Dad?”  
  
“In the diner,” Sam answered, pointing to where they could see John sitting in a booth by the window. “Now come on, I wanna get something to eat, and I have something I need to talk to you about.”  
  
Dean looked at Sam confused, not quite sure what Sam needed to talk about. He fumbled with the door handle, before practically falling out of the truck. Sam laughed as he jumped out after him, and grabbed his arm, holding him upright as he dragged Dean into the diner. They slid into the booth across from John, and it only took about a second before Dean’s head fell forward. “Tired.”  
  
Sam grabbed the collar of Dean’s jacket and pulled, lifting Dean’s head up. “Dean, I really need to talk to you.”  
  
Dean nodded, then jerked away from Sam’s grasp. “Fine, fine. Just, coffee first, please. I think you’ll actually want me to remember this conversation.”  
  
“I ordered coffees when I came in,” John informed them. “Oh, and here they are now.”  
  
The waiter set their coffees down on the table, taking them off his tray one at a time. “Do you know what you want, or do you need another minute?”  
  
John leaned back in seat and looked at the menu, written on a black chalkboard in neon chalk. “Ah, we’ll all have that cheeseburger and fries thing you’ve got going.”  
  
“Alright, and anything to drink other than the coffee?” the waiter asked, quickly jotting down the burger and fries combo.   
  
Sam looked at the drinks menu, then looked up at the waiter. “I’ll have a milkshake. Seems to go with the Grease theme you guys have here.”  
  
“I’m fine with my coffee,” John answered, taking a sip of the hot liquid.  
  
“What about him?” the waiter asked, pointing his pen at Dean, who was staring blankly ahead. “Is he okay?”  
  
Sam nodded quickly. “Oh yeah, no, he’s fine. He’ll-- he’ll have a Coke, I guess,” he shrugged, looking at John. “A Coke.”  
  
“Alright,” the waiter nodded. “If you need anything else, I’ll be around.” He stuck the notepad back in his pocket then walked into the kitchen.   
  
Dean inhaled the scent of coffee, then sniffed again, before his face lit up and he saw the coffee mug in front of him. He grabbed the mug and brought it to his mouth quickly, practically inhaling the liquid. He groaned in delight and sighed. He nudged Sam in the arm to get his attention. “That’s good coffee.”  
  
Sam chuckled, then drummed his long fingers on the table, biting at his lip. “Can we talk now, then? Since you’re awake.”  
  
Dean took another sip of coffee, then nodded, setting the mug down. “Sure, what’s up?”  
  
Sam glanced at John, who was watching him intently, then turned back to Dean. “I don’t want to live in Lawrence. And I don’t want to have our baby there, either.”  
  
Dean nodded slowly, then lifted his coffee to his nose, just inhaling the scent. “Okay…so where exactly _do_ you want to live?”  
  
“Here,” Sam said softly. “Well, not-- not _right_ here, obviously, I want to live in the Orange County…area. You think it’s stupid, don’t you?”  
  
Dean lifted his arms in exasperation, nearly spilling his coffee. “I didn’t even say anything!” He rolled his eyes, then set his coffee back down. “You want to live here?”  
  
Sam nodded, glancing over at John again, who just shrugged. “Yeah, I do. I always liked it here. The sun, the water, it’s so nice, Dean. You’d really like it. The beaches, you can stare at half-naked people for hours. I mean, _you_ can, that’s not really my thing.”  
  
Dean nodded again, then sighed. “You want to live here?” he repeated.  
  
Sam nodded back, and took a sip of his own coffee. “Only if you want to, I don’t want to drag you into anything.”  
  
“Aren’t you worried you’d run into some of your friends from Stanford, or something?” Dean asked, turning to Sam.  
  
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, Palo Alto is pretty far from here, and you know what? Who cares. I’ll probably run into more than one of them, sometime, no matter where we live.”  
  
“It is pretty nice here,” Dean said softly, looking out the window. “I always liked whenever we came through here, as kids. And it would be nice to be so close to the ocean.” He sighed, then looked up at Sam. “You want this more than Lawrence?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Completely forgot about Lawrence. I lived here longer than I did Lawrence. So, what do you think?”  
  
“I think it’s worth some serious consideration,” Dean replied. “It’s a big decision…but I think I like it.”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked, a smile growing on his face.   
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I can’t think of any reason why living here is any worse than anywhere else, and I can think of a few reasons why I like it better than most states. If this is what you want--”  
  
“It is,” Sam jumped n. “It is. No more changing my mind, I promise.”  
  
“You two will have to get jobs before you can afford to get an apartment here,” John finally spoke up. “Well, you’d have to get jobs before you could afford an apartment anywhere. Dean, would you actually be willing to work?”  
  
Dean’s jaw dropped slightly, and he rolled his eyes. “Why do you assume that _I_ am the one who can’t work?”  
  
“Because Sammy’s worked,” John answered. “He’s had an apartment before. You’ve always lived with me, or nowhere at all.”  
  
“Oh, _man_ ,” Dean muttered. “Yes. Yes, I can get a job. I am able to work, thank you, I’m not retarded or something.”  
  
“I’m not saying you are, Dean,” John said. “I’m just saying, you’re used to not working, and when the baby comes--”  
  
“Well, why does Sam automatically get to be the stay-at-home parent?” Dean interrupted, sitting up. “Maybe I want to be the stay-at-home Dad!”  
  
“Excuse me,” the waiter said softly, trays of food in his hands, “I have your orders. All three, burger and fries…” he set the plates down, one at a time, in front of each of the men, “then a milkshake for you,” he handed it off to Sam, “and a Coke for the staring one, who I see woke up. There you go.”  
  
“Thank you,” John nodded, before taking a bite of his burger.  
  
“Thanks,” Dean muttered, only blushing slightly at the fact that the waiter heard him.  
  
“Thanks,” Sam said, flashing a quick smile. “Dean, it doesn’t matter which one of us stays home with the baby, we’re both gonna have to work until I have it.”  
  
“This is stupid,” Dean mumbled, taking a bite of his burger. “Can’t we just do what we’ve been doing? Credit card scams, pool? That’s easy.”  
  
“Because I’m not letting our kid grow up that way!” Sam snapped. “Living out of motel rooms and our car? That’s not a life, Dean.”  
  
“I know, I know,” Dean sighed, shoving a fry in his mouth. “I just-- maybe you’re Dad, I’m just not use to not having you to take care of me.” He stuck his straw in his mouth, then turned to Sam. “Orange County, huh?”  
  
Sam looked at Dean, a fry sticking out his mouth. “Uh-huh,” he nodded.  
  
Dean sighed, then grabbed another fry. “You’ve been watching too much MTV.”  
  

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 13/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** Sam has a slightly disturbing dream; Sam and Dean have a serious talk that turns into something else  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

_“C’mon Sam,” Dean urged. “Push!”_  
  
That probably should’ve been the first clue that it was a dream, but it still felt real to Sam. He wasn’t sure where _exactly_ Dream Sam was pushing this baby out of, but he was sure he really didn’t want to know.  
  
 _Sam cried out, and groaned. One hand was squeezing Dean’s, so hard he swore he could feel bones cracking; the other hand clutching at the bed sheets. “Fuck!” he screamed, throwing his head back. “D-- Dean, I can’t do this!”  
  
“You have to push, Sam,” Dean said, trying to comfort him, but he kept wincing in pain every time Sam squeezed down on his hand. “I know it hurts--”  
  
“You don’t fucking know anything!” he screamed, glaring at Dean. “You try giving birth!”  
  
“Come on, Sam,” John encouraged softly, lifting his head from between Sam’s legs._  
  
Okay, this dream just hit creepy, but Sam still couldn’t wake up, no matter how much pain Dream him was in.  
  
 _“Just a couple more pushes, Sam,” John told him. “I can see its head.”  
  
“It has a head!” Dean cheered, before crying out when Sam’s hand clamped down even harder on his. He reached his other hand up to slap at Sam’s fingers. “Stop hurting me!”  
  
Sam groaned again; it started off low, but turned into a scream of pain as he gave another push. “Get it out of me! Fuck!”  
  
“One more push,” John coaxed. “Come on, Sam, you can do this, just one more.”  
  
“No!” Sam yelled. “Take it out yourself, asshole!”_  
  
“Dean, what is he mumbling about?” John asked, lifting his head from his pillow. He yawned, then rubbed at his eyes.  
  
Dean lifted his own head, hair all pushed over to one side and his shirt riding up in the back. He reached over and smacked Sam’s arm. “Sam, wake up.”  
  
Sam tossed his head in his sleep, and cried out again, but still didn’t wake.  
  
“Fuck,” Dean muttered. He sat up, then grabbed Sam’s shoulders to shake him. “Wake up!”  
  
Sam whimpered, and clutched at the sheets, but still, his eyes wouldn’t open.  
  
 _“Just one more, Sammy,” Dean told him. “Just one more.”  
  
Sam let go of Dean’s hand to grab his short hair and bring him in close, so close their noses were touching. “It’s Sam!”_  
  
“I am not putting up with this all night,” John groaned, pushing himself out of his bed, nearly stumbling on his way over to Dean and Sam’s bed. He knelt beside the bed, and put his mouth to Sam’s ear. “ _SAMUEL_!”  
  
Sam jerked awake, sitting up slightly. Propped up on his shoulders, he looked around the room, eyes wide, before he looked to Dean and John. “W-- what’s going on?”  
  
“You were talking in your sleep,” John informed him, pushing himself up. He walked back over to his own bed. “Loudly. Annoyingly.”  
  
“Understatement,” Dean muttered, dropping his head back down to the pillow. “What were you crying about anyway?”  
  
Sam looked at Dean, eyes still wide, breath still coming a little too fast. “T-- the baby. I was having the baby.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” John asked, dropping down on the mattress. He shivered, then pulled his sheets over his bare chest. “How was that?”  
  
“I was pushing it out,” Sam said softly, his hand unconsciously rubbing his bare stomach.  
  
“Ouch,” Dean muttered. “W-- where exactly where you--”  
  
“I don’t know,” Sam shook his head. “I don’t think I _want_ to know.” He sat up a bit further so he could see his father over the Dean-shaped bump in the bed. “Hey, Dad, I’m not pushing this thing out, am I?”  
  
“Hell no,” John answered. “Even if by some…strange event--”  
  
“Stranger than him getting pregnant in the first place?” Dean interrupted.  
  
John continued on, ignoring Dean. “--I wouldn’t make you push it out. Don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep.”  
  
“Dean?” Sam asked softly, reaching up to run his fingertips through Dean’s short hair.  
  
“Mm-hmm,” Dean murmured, his eyes fluttering open to look at Sam. “Whasgoinon?”  
  
Sam smiled, and chuckled, running his finger down Dean’s cheek, curving and coming to rest on Dean’s lips. “You were happy.”  
  
“When?” Dean asked, tongue flicking out to tease the end of Sam’s finger.  
  
“The dream,” Sam answered, biting his lip when he felt Dean’s tongue. “In my dream, you were happy about the baby. Other than the pushing part, that would have made a nice vision.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, before shut his eyes again. “Now get back to sleep.”  
  
Sam pressed a quick kiss to Dean’s lips, before laying back down on the bed. He curled up on his side, his back to Dean’s chest. “Dean, quit hogging all the covers,” he muttered, pulling on the sheets.  
  
“It’s cold,” Dean defended, but he let Sam steal some sheets from him anyway. He threw an arm over Sam’s side, pulling him in closer. He pressed a kiss to Sam’s shoulder blade, then sighed. “Love you, Sammy.”  
  
Sam yawned, then nodded. He reached a hand up to grasp Dean’s wrist, holding Dean to him. “Love you too.” He yawned again, loudly, then finally let his eyes drift shut, falling asleep in Dean’s arms.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
It was the next night, when Sam walked out of the bathroom, only a towel around his waist. Dean was laying on the bed, propped up by his pillows, the remote in his hand. “Hey, Sammy,” Dean said, barely glancing over at him.   
  
“What’s going on?” Sam asked, walking over to his duffel. He knelt down and began going through. “Where’s Dad?”  
  
“Bar,” Dean answered, his eyes shifting back and forth between the television and Sam at his bag, long muscles stretched underneath the golden skin of his back. “He was in the mood for whiskey.”  
  
Sam snorted, then stood up, boxers and t-shirt in hand. “I’m surprised he doesn’t just carry it around with him at this point.”  
  
“He’s not an alcoholic, Sam,” Dean said, patting a spot beside him on the bed. “C’mon, Scream 2. Your favourite.”  
  
Sam flipped his head, wet bangs flying out of his eyes, and sat down on the bed, holding his towel on with one hand. “No, _your_ favourite. You were the one who liked the slasher flicks, not me.”  
  
Dean nodded slowly, a smile growing on his face. “That’s right. You were the baby, not me. These things aren’t even scary, Sammy. Not compared to what we do for a living.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Not compared to anything. They’re crap. All of them. I’m not scared of them, I just prefer to spend my time watching movies with more of a plot, or-- or a point.”  
  
“Okay, calm down Ebert and Roeper,” Dean snapped, “I just don’t like to think too much--”  
  
“I’ve noticed,” Sam muttered, before pushing himself up off the bed, standing up.   
  
“--during movies,” Dean finished. “Now come on, sit down, watch the movie.”  
  
“Dean, I’m naked!” Sam reminded him. “Under this towel, no boxers. Let me get dressed.”  
  
Dean shrugged, then grabbed onto Sam’s hand, pulling him back down onto the bed. “You don’t need to be dressed to watch a movie, Sam. Just sit, please. I want to talk to you.”  
  
Sam sighed, then nodded, laying down on the beside Dean, his hand still holding onto his towel. “Fine then, talk.”  
  
Dean nodded, then pressed a kiss to that spot behind Sam’s ear, and smiled when Sam shivered. “I want to move to California. I want to have our baby here.”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked, turning to Dean, a grin on his face. “Really? You want to live here?”  
  
“Yeah, I want to live here,” Dean nodded. “Despite the whole MTV and Fox jumping on the OC bandwagon, it really isn’t that bad here. I get to work on my tan, our baby can grow up among the rich…of course, without actually _being_ one of the rich, obviously. But yeah, I want to have our baby here.”  
  
Sam’s smile got even wider, and he pulled Dean in for a hug. “Thank you so much, Dean.”  
  
Dean was a bit taken aback; as much as they kissed and had sex, they weren’t really big on hugging. He brought his arms up slowly, patting Sam’s back with one hand, the other hand entangled in the hair at the nape of Sam’s neck. “You’re welcome, Sam,” he said softly, pulling Sam in closer. “You’re welcome.”  
  
Sam pulled away, before leaning back in to kiss Dean. He moved his mouth quickly, and Dean could still feel the smile on his lips. “Thank you.” He began pressing quick kisses all over Dean’s face and jaw, trying to contain his giddiness.   
  
“Jesus, Sam,” Dean said, trying to push Sam off him. “Calm down, it’s not that big a deal. Don’t make me regret this.”  
  
“Sorry,” Sam apologized, pulling back from Dean, a small smile still gracing his features. “See? I told you I’m a happy person.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “I see that. Now are you gonna shut up and watch the movie with me, or not?”  
  
Sam sighed, then nodded. “Fine, fine. Turn it up, so I can hear.” As Dean grabbed the remote, Sam began to rub his stomach, his smile getting even larger. “Hi baby. My name’s Sam.”  
  
Dean glanced over at Sam, then dropped the remote. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Sam’s stomach. “I’m Dean.” He sighed, then sat up, turning up the television. “There, today’s chick flick moment is over. Can we move on?”  
  
“What are we going to name them?” Sam asked, ignoring Dean’s comment. “We have to choose a name.”  
  
Dean groaned. “Right now? Sam, I’m watching a movie here.”  
  
“No, not right now,” Sam answered, “we have seven months. But we have to think about it. Dean, stop watching the movie, I’m talking to you here.” He snapped his fingers in front of Dean’s face, but Dean barely even blinked.  
  
“Shh, this is my favourite part,” Dean said softly. “We can talk in seven months, okay?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes then grabbed the clothes that he had dropped on the floor. He stood up, then walked back into the bathroom. “Dean, you know how it ends!” he called out into the bedroom, dropping his towel to the floor. He grabbed his boxers, then stepped into them, pulling them up. He picked up his towel, then brought it to his head, quickly drying his hair. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, then flicked off the bathroom light. “Shove over,” he commanded, towering over Dean.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, then shimmied over the bed.  
  
Sam dropped down heavily, and Dean bounced on the other side of the mattress. He laid down on his side, facing away from Dean, and grabbed at sheets, pulling them over his body. “Could you turn the TV down, please?”  
  
Dean sighed, then pressed the volume button on the remote. “Sam, I didn’t mean to make you mad.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “I’m not mad, I’m just tired. I’m fine.”  
  
“You’re mad,” Dean said. “Sam, I’ve known you your entire life; I know when you’re mad, and right now…you’re mad.”  
  
“Why aren’t you taking this seriously?” Sam asked, sitting up in the bed, watching Dean.   
  
“I _am_ taking this seriously,” Dean insisted. “I think you’re taking it _too_ seriously.”  
  
“No, you’re not,” Sam shook his head. “At the beginning, you made jokes, thought I was schizophrenic. You seriously asked me why we couldn’t raise our kid the way we’ve been living. And now, now you care more about this movie, which we own, and you’ve seen a minimum of twenty-five times, than picking a name for our baby. You refuse to think about the money issue, or where we’re going too live--”  
  
“We don’t have to know it all now, Sam,” Dean interrupted. “We have seven months to figure it all out. Why are you so worried about it all?”  
  
“I’m just scared,” Sam admitted softly. “I’m scared that we _will_ end up living the way we are now, and our baby’s gonna be raised in a car. I’m scared that we’ll never have enough money, and they’ll never get anything they want. I don’t want our baby to be raised the way we were raised.”  
  
“They won’t be,” Dean assured him. “I promise. I swear on my life, our baby will have a better life than we did. And the way you’re going, you’ll worry enough for the both of us.”  
  
Sam chuckled, then smacked Dean’s arm lightly. “We do this a lot, nowadays, don’t we?”  
  
“Do what?” Dean asked.  
  
“Talk,” Sam said simply. “We never talked this much about anything before.”  
  
“This isn’t anything we’ve ever done before,” Dean reminded him. “You can’t expect everything to be the same between us. It’s not ever gonna be the same again. But that doesn’t have to a bad thing.”  
  
“Then why does it scare the complete shit out of me?” Sam muttered. “And how are you dealing with this so well?”  
  
“Just one of my many, _many_ charms,” Dean answered, a smile on his face. He took a deep breath, then bit at his lip. “We’re gonna make it, Sam. If you would just calm down, we’d be fine.” He wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulder and pulled him in, Sam’s head leaning on the top of Dean’s. “We can watch something else if you want. Cry-Baby is coming on in a couple minutes.”  
  
“I love that movie,” Sam said softly. “Especially when Cry-Baby teaches Allison how to French kiss.”  
  
Dean wrinkled up his nose in mock disgust. “Ewww. Little Sammy’s a pervert.”  
  
“Shut up,” Sam slapped Dean’s chest playfully. “I know you had a crush on Allison.”  
  
“Actually, it was Cry-Baby,” Dean said thoughtfully. “Do you just want to go to bed? You need the extra sleep, and I think I need some shut-eye.”  
  
“Dean, it’s barely ten o’clock,” Sam told him. “That’s sweet of you, but no thanks. Let’s finish watching this movie. You know scary movies are just foreplay.” He lifted his head and pressed a kiss to Dean’s temple, then began working his way downward.  
  
Dean sighed, then leaned back, just enjoying the feeling of Sam’s mouth. “That feels nice-- ooh, what you doing there, Sammy?”  
  
Sam smiled against Dean’s neck, and flicked his tongue out, distracting Dean with soft laps against the skin as his hand worked its way up underneath Dean’s t-shirt. His long fingers quickly sought out a nipple. Rolling the nub between his fingertips, Dean groaned and arched his back slightly, eyes fluttering shut. “We never did take that shower,” Sam said softly, mouth right next to Dean’s ear.   
  
Dean head lolled to one side, and his eyes opened slightly, pupils dilated. “Uh-huh.” He reached one hand out and grasped the hem of Sam’s shirt. “Take this off.”  
  
Sam slipped his own hand out from under Dean’s shirt and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head quickly. After dropping it to the floor, he moved his body to straddle Dean’s lap. He bent at the waist and grasped the hem of Dean’s shirt, pulling it up slowly, pressing wet and warm kisses to every inch of skin exposed. “Love you,” he mumbled into Dean’s abs. “Fucking beautiful.” He sucked a patch of dusty skin into his mouth, teasing the hard nub even more.   
  
Dean gasped, and made a tiny broken sound, arching into Sam’s mouth. “S-- Sam, just--”  
  
“Shh,” Sam pressed a finger to Dean’s mouth. “I’m not done yet.” He pulled the shirt over Dean’s head, dropping it beside his on the floor. He grabbed Dean’s head, fingers entangling into Dean’s hair and he pulled him in for a rough kiss. Somewhere, in the back of his mind he knew he was pulling a little too hard, but as long as Dean kept moaning into his mouth and thrusting his hips up to meet Sam’s like _that_ , he wasn’t going to let up anytime soon.   
  
Dean’s mouth dropped to Sam’s throat, nipping at the skin, then soothing it with his tongue. “I love you like this, Sam, all hot and needy. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” His hands moved from Sam’s hair, his nails dragging down Sam’s back, to grip at his buttocks, pulling him closer and harder to his groin.   
  
Sam’s hand grabbed onto the top of the headboard, his head thrown back as Dean ducked his head to press kisses all over Sam’s chest. He ground his hips downward, their hardening cocks rubbing together, even through their thin boxers.  
  
Just then, they heard the door to the room close. “Oh, ah, shit, sorry,” John stuttered, bringing his hand up to cover his. “I-- I should’ve knocked.”  
  
Dean and Sam both completely froze, eyes wide in shock and horror. “Holy shit,” Dean muttered.  
  
Sam gasped, and tried to roll of Dean, but his foot got tangled in the sheets and as he tugged, the sheets gave way and he fell off Dean, onto the floor, landing with a soft “oof”.  
  
Dean looked around quickly, before grabbing a pillow to cover his lap. “H-- Hi, Dad. How-- how was the whiskey?”  
  
“Not good enough to make me forget _this_ ,” John muttered, now facing away from the boys, staring at the door. “I-- I should’ve thought. Called, when I left the bar or something. Dear god.”  
  
“Sam, get off the floor,” Dean snapped, voice a harsh whisper.   
  
Sam shook his head, and grabbed his own pillow to cover his lap. “I think I’m good down here. Uh, so-- Dad…yeah. We’re sorry. Sorry.”  
  
John just nodded, then quickly walked to the bathroom, never looking at the two of them. “I’ll have a shower,” John offered, stepping into the small room. “You can-- finish up, or something,” he said softly, closing the door behind him.  
  
Dean and Sam stayed in their spots, making no move to “finish up”. The only sounds in the room were their harsh breathing, trying to calm back down, and John’s shower.  
  
After about a minute, or so, Dean began laughing.   
  
“ _What_ is so funny?” Sam snapped, whipping his head around to face Dean. “Dean, our father just walked in on us. A minute later, and he would’ve seen at the least, one of us naked!”  
  
Dean just rolled his eyes, and continued laughing. “I don’t know. The look on his face…the look on _your_ face. You-- you fell on the floor.” He began laughing harder, his entire body shaking.  
  
“Oh, shut the hell up,” Sam snapped under his breath, taking his pillow to reach up and smack Dean. “He’s probably traumatized, you know.” Sam chuckled, and soon began laughing as hard as Dean.  
  
They continued laughing for minutes, until John’s shower shut off, and their father walked out into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist.   
  
John walked slowly to his duffel bag, just as Sam had earlier, and reached into the open bag, pulling out his pair of flannel pyjama pants and his t-shirt.   
  
Sam and Dean watched their father, but continued laughing, both red in the face.  
  
John stood up, then turned to face his sons. “You know…I don’t even want to know.” He walked back into the bathroom, and Sam and Dean just laughed even harder.  
  

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 14/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** Sam runs into an old friend; the Winchesters check out an apartment  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the Mpreg EPIC!!

 

Sam shook his head, and put his coffee mug back on the table. “Dean, that’s too much. We can’t afford that.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and dropped the newspaper. “Fine, then you look. I don’t know how much I’m going to make, so you find the apartment.”  
  
“I’m looking for jobs,” Sam reminded him. “Dad, you look for an apartment. You’re going to be living there for at least eight months anyway.”  
  
John set his coffee down and picked up Dean’s newspaper. “What are you guys looking for?”  
  
“Two bedrooms,” Sam answered quickly, not looking up from his own paper, “affordable, obviously.”  
  
“An affordable, two bedroom apartment,” John said softly, scanning the paper, “in Orange County? I think you’ll have better luck finding Bigfoot in downtown ‘Frisco.”  
  
Sam sighed, dropping the paper slightly, looking over at John. “Hey Dad, how come _we_ never found Bigfoot?”  
  
“No such thing,” John said simply. “Some things _are_ just legend, Sammy.” He continued reading the paper, occasionally taking a drink of his coffee. “How do you feel about Anaheim?” he asked, minutes later, looking up at Sam and Dean.  
  
Sam glanced over at Dean, who just shrugged. “I don’t know, Sam, I’ve never been there. Is Anaheim nice?”  
  
Sam thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Yeah, it is. I think you’d like it. They have baseball, hockey…”  
  
Dean’s eyes lit up. “Mighty Ducks, high five!” He raised his hand, but Sam just rolled his eyes, then grabbed Dean’s scone off its tiny plate, taking a bite of it. “Dude, that’s my scone!”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, and then took another bite. “Who cares? You’re not eating it.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes right back, and looked out the window, pretending not to care before quickly turning and grabbing the scone out of Sam’s hand, taking a large bite out of it.  
  
“You’re going to choke on that,” Sam informed him, holding Dean’s glass of orange juice up. “Drink, it’s too dry to swallow.”  
  
Dean snatched the glass of orange juice out of Sam’s hand, taking a large gulp. “Thanks for that, Mom.”  
  
John’s eyes snapped up at the word ‘mom’, but he didn’t say anything.  
  
Sam smiled at Dean, before leaning in for a quick peck of the lips. “Love you.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, and then turned back to their father. “What about Anaheim, Dad?”  
  
“Two bedrooms,” John began, “walk-in closets, balcony, deck or patio, air conditioning, laundry room--”  
  
“Where would I put my car?” Dean jumped in, leaning slightly over the table.  
  
“Covered parking,” John continued, “and I think you can afford it.”  
  
“How much?” Sam asked, more interested in that than the fact they had covered parking.  
  
“Eight hundred and seventy-six bucks a month,” John answered, looking up at Sam.  
  
“Holy shit!” Dean said in surprise, garnering the attention of other patrons in the diner. “Are you serious? That sounds like a lot of money.”  
  
“Dean, that’s not a lot of money,” Sam assured him. “Not for all that. Two bedrooms, are you sure, Dad? We need two bedrooms.”  
  
John reread the ad, and nodded. “Yeah, two bedrooms. Right here.” He kept his finger on the ad as he handed Sam the paper.  
  
Sam read the ad quickly, and then looked up at John. “This is awesome. Sounds like a nice place, and it’s definitely affordable.”  
  
“I could hustle that much in a couple nights,” Dean said thoughtfully. “One night, maybe … sounds nice to me. What do we do, do we like, go look at it or something?”  
  
“We need an appointment,” Sam said, reading from the ad. “They’re probably all booked up now.”  
  
“Appointment?” Dean repeated. He leaned back in his seat. “That shouldn’t be too hard to fake.”  
  
John shook his head. “We can’t fake that, Dean. Not if we intend to live there. Call the number, Dean, and say Winchester, please.” As Dean took out his cell phone, a high-pitched voice cut through the rest of the sounds at the diner.  
  
“Oh my god, Sam Winchester, is that _you_?”  
  
Sam looked up to where the voice was coming from, and his eyes widened, in surprise or maybe fear, John and Dean couldn’t tell. “Jo-- Joanne, oh my god.” He looked back at Dean, making sure Joanne couldn’t see his face and mouthed ‘help’. He turned back around to face her. “What-- what are you doing here?”  
  
“Oh, not much; Braden and I just drove down from Palo Alto,” she replied, gesturing outside the diner to where there was a young man reading a magazine in a car, “but what about you? What happened to you after Jess di-- you know, passed on? You just disappeared.”  
  
“Uh, yeah, about that…I decided to get away from the whole thing,” Sam nodded slowly. “Oh, uh-- this is my father, John--”  
  
“Hello,” John gave a small wave.  
  
“--and this is--” Sam turned to Dean.  
  
“I’m his boyfriend, Dean,” Dean said, taking his phone away from his ear. He held out his hand for Joanne to shake. “You are-- what was it?”  
  
“Joanne,” she answered, still a little shocked, but she accepted Dean’s hand anyway. “I’m sorry, d-- did you say…‘boyfriend’?”  
  
Dean nodded, a smile on his face. “Yes,” then went back to the call.  
  
Joanne let her arm drop back down at her side, and she bit her lip, looking to Sam. “Wh-- what about Jess? I mean, not to be rude, but I just didn’t know you-- that you liked men. Wow. Is he-- is he why you left?”  
  
“Huh?” Sam asked, snapping back to attention, still in shock from Dean’s statement. “Oh, uh, no, no he’s not. Well, he kind of is. It’s, well, it’s complicated, Joanne. I actually never expected--”  
  
“So you two went to Stanford together?” John interrupted, trying to save Sam from what could turn into an interesting conversation.  
  
Joanne turned to John, her jaw slightly open. “Uh, yeah. We were in English and Pre-Law together. We missed Sam at graduation.”  
  
“That’d be my fault,” John said. “After Jess passed on, he decided to come and uh…work for me. The family business.”  
  
“What would that be?” Joanne asked, glancing back at Dean, who smiled up at her.  
  
Before John could answer, the car horn honked from outside, and all four of them looked up to see Braden tapping his watch.  
  
“Oh, crap, right, I was only supposed to come in here to use the bathroom,” Joanne said, glancing at her watch. “Well, Sam, I must admit, it was quite…interesting--” she smiled at Dean, “running into you. I should get going.”  
  
“Bye,” Sam said, giving a tiny wave.  
  
“Nice to meet you both,” Joanne said, an obviously fake smile plastered on her face. “Sam, if you’re ever around Palo Alto give me or Braden a call. We’ll have to get together. Bye.” She smiled again and quickly left the diner.  
  
“Who the _hell_ was that?” Dean asked, snapping his head towards Sam. “Tell me she was Jess’s friend, and not yours.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Like she said, we just had a couple classes together. She and Jessica hung out all the time though. ‘Class gossip, school whore’ is what we used to say about her. Funny thing though, I think she’s the one who started that.”  
  
John snorted and watched out the window as the car pulled out of the parking lot. “I don’t think she was too happy about you and Dean.”  
  
“Yeah, speaking of that,” Sam began, turning in his seat to glare at Dean, “what the hell did you tell her that for? You could’ve said brother.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “We’re going to be living together with a baby, Sam. That was just practice. ‘Boyfriend’ kind of just rolls off the tongue.”  
  
“He has a point,” John said, looking at Sam. “Did you get the appointment?” he asked Dean.  
  
Dean nodded then took another bite of his scone. “Yeah, they can take us for fifteen minutes at eleven.”  
  
“It’s almost ten-fifteen now,” John told them, glancing at his watch. “We’d better get on the road then, don’t want to be late.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Okay, who should do the talking?” Sam asked, grabbing a plaid shirt from the back seat and pulling it on over his t-shirt.   
  
“I vote not Dean,” John suggested, quickly fixing his hair in the side mirror.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, and shifted against the Impala door. “What the hell are you two trying to dress up for? It’s an apartment. We’re not even getting it yet, we’re just looking. We still need jobs.”  
  
“First impressions,” John said, pulling away from the car. “Sam, you ready?”  
  
Sam finished looping his belt then buckled it. He ran his fingers through his bangs then nodded. “Yeah, let’s go. But I still think we should have a speaker.”  
  
“Stop worrying,” Dean snapped, grabbing Sam’s arm, pulling him towards the doors.  
  
The three Winchesters walked into the lobby of the apartment complex, going over to where the redheaded receptionist was sitting at her computer.  
  
“Hi,” Sam said softly, walking up to the counter.  
  
“Hi,” she replied, equally as soft. “How can I help you?”  
  
“We’re the Winchesters,” Dean answered. “We have an appointment at eleven to look at apartments.”  
  
The receptionist nodded, and then picked up her phone. “Paula, the Winchesters are here. There are three. I don’t know, and I’m not asking. You ask. All right, I’ll tell them.” She hung up the receiver then turned back to the men. “She’ll be out in a few minutes, you can just wait over there,” she said, gesturing to a small couch and a chair.  
  
Sam smiled then walked over to the waiting area, John and Dean close behind. As soon as they were sure the receptionist couldn’t hear them, Dean spoke.  
  
“I can’t _believe_ we used our real name,” he said softly, disgust evident on his face. “We _never_ use our real name. First rule of Fight Club.”  
  
“Why do you insist on bringing up Fight Club every chance you get?” Sam snapped quietly. “This has nothing to do with Brad Pitt.”  
  
“We had to use our real names, Dean,” John told him. “I used our real name whenever I got an apartment, or our house. When you live somewhere, odds are they’re going to hear your real name somewhere, may as well be from us before things get complicated.”  
  
“I still think it’s stupid,” Dean muttered.   
  
“You’re just not used to people knowing your real name,” Sam pointed out. “We are, and it’s really not that big a deal.”  
  
“Uh, are you three the Winchesters?” a woman, presumably the Paula the receptionist had been talking to on the phone, asked, walking over to them.  
  
Sam and John quickly stood up, while Dean just sat there, staring up at her.  
  
“I’m Paula,” she told them, holding out her hand to John, the nearest one.  
  
John accepted her hand and shook it heartily, a smile on his face. “John.”  
  
She smiled back then turned to Sam and Dean. “And you two are…?”  
  
“Sam,” Sam answered, offering his hand to her. Her hand nearly disappeared into the much larger palm of Sam’s. Dropping his arm back to his side, he looked down at Dean. “Stand up,” he said under his breath, poking Dean’s arm.   
  
“Oh, that’s alright,” Paula shook her head, smiling down at Dean. “So, should we get onto the tour then?”  
  
John nodded. “Lead the way.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Now, I assume you saw the parking,” Paula said, leading them around outside around the courtyard. “This, obviously, is the pool. Right there, that’s the laundry room.” She stopped walking then turned around to face the men. “Now, what floor were you thinking of? We have rooms available on all three floors.”  
  
“Uh, what would the difference be?” Sam asked, not quite sure what she meant.  
  
“Balcony or patio,” she answered.   
  
“Oh.” Sam turned to Dean, who couldn’t have been paying any less attention, still mad they used their real names, and rolled his eyes. “Dad,” he started to say, but not completely sure what exactly that Paula woman thought their relationships were, he said, “John?” instead.  
  
John looked over at Sam, confused for a second before understanding filled his eyes. “Oh. Well, I suppose a balcony would be nice.”  
  
“Balcony it is!” Paula said loudly, turning back around. She led them across the courtyard then opened a door that read ‘staircase’, and walked inside. “You three can handle some stairs, can’t you?”  
  
“Better to throw you down, my dear,” Dean muttered, but Paula didn’t hear him.  
  
They followed her up the flight of stairs, going to the second floor. She opened a door to the hallway, and held it open for Sam, Dean and John to walk by her. They walked down to the other end, to the last apartment, the corner apartment. “We’ll go in here,” she told them. She reached into her pocket and grabbed the second floor master key. She unlocked the door then let Sam open it up. “Walk around, check out the rooms; I just need to make a call.” She waited until John and Dean had walked into the apartment then closed the door behind them.  
  
They walked in together, but then soon split up. Dean walked outside to the balcony, checking out the view of the pool; John went through the living and the dining rooms to check out the kitchen; Sam walked down the hall to check out the bedrooms.  
  
“Where’s the master bedroom in this place?” Dean asked, walking back into the apartment.  
  
“Down here!” Sam called.  
  
Dean walked to the hall and opened the first door on his right; a bathroom with another door in it. “Interesting,” Dean murmured, walking into the bathroom just to open the other door. “A shower” he looked around, saw another door. Wondering where that one led, he opened that too, and saw the exact same sight he had seen earlier, a sink and toilet. “Christ, I think I’m lost already. Sam?”  
  
“Dean?” he heard Sam ask through the walls. “Where are you?”  
  
Dean looked around. “A bathroom. One of three.”  
  
Just then, the door Dean hadn’t come in through opened, and there was Sam, a smirk on his face. “Oh, thank god, Sammy. I was a little worried I’d walked into the Twilight Zone or something.” He brushed past Sam and looked around the room he was now in. “Master bedroom?”  
  
Sam nodded then closed the bathroom door. “Where’d you come from?”  
  
“The dining room,” he replied. “Sam, this place has three bathrooms.”  
  
“Seriously?” Sam asked.   
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “No, Sam, I got lost in one bathroom. Yes, seriously. I walked into one, and there was another door, which led me to the shower, and then I opened this other door, and ended up in there.” He pointed to the door Sam just got him out of.  
  
“You could’ve just walked down the hall,” Sam told him, trying not to laugh at his brother. “So, what do you think?”  
  
“Of the room?” Dean asked, looking around. “It’s nice.”  
  
“The apartment,” Sam corrected. “What do you think?”  
  
“Honestly?” Dean asked, turning to Sam.  
  
“No, lie to me,” Sam answered sarcastically.  
  
“I like it,” Dean nodded. “Really, I do. What about you?”  
  
“I love it,” Sam told him. “I love it all.” He grabbed onto Dean’s hand, and led him out of the master bedroom to show him the other one. “ _This_ is going to be our baby’s nursery.”  
  
“What about Dad?” Dean asked, barely glancing at the room. From what he could tell, it was the same as the master, just smaller.  
  
“Dad’s not going to live with us forever,” Sam pointed out. “He’s a hunter, and he’s not giving it up. If he ever comes back to visit, he can sleep on the couch or something.”  
  
“You two talking about me?” John asked, walking down the hallway.  
  
Sam nodded. “What do you think, Dad? Do you like it here?”  
  
John shrugged then looked around. “Seems a bit stuck up to me, and I think that Paula woman may be from Stepford, but it’s a nice apartment. What about you two?”  
  
“I love it,” Sam answered, “and so does Dean. What do we tell Paula?”  
  
“Tell me whatever you want,” Paula said loudly, walking into down the hall to join them. “Tell me, don’t you just love it?”  
  
Dean and John tried not to laugh, but Sam just nodded. “We do love it, actually.”  
  
“So I see you’ve found the bedrooms,” Paula said, smiling. “That’s the master there, and that’s the other one.” She began to walk up the hallway, and the three men just followed her. “Now, right here, this apartment was built to hold a washer and a dryer. Since we have a laundry room, they were changed to closets.” She took a couple of steps then opened the next door. “Have you seen the bathroom?”  
  
“I have,” Dean said, speaking to Paula for the first time, “kind of confused me.”  
  
Paula smiled sympathetically, and nodded, “this one here, sink and toilet. For guests, or for whoever doesn’t have the master bedroom. She flicked on the lights then stepped inside, giving room for John and Sam to see what Dean already had. “This door here leads to the shower and bath. She opened that door then walked in. “Everybody uses this, you only have one. Now, here, through this door, is the master bathroom. It connects to the master bedroom. It’s all very simple actually, but I can see how you’d be confused,” she smiled, turning to Dean. “The master bathroom has the linen closet, for towels, sheets--”  
  
“We know what linens are,” Dean snapped, rolling his eyes.   
  
“Dean!” Sam said, turning to his brother. “Be nice.”  
  
Paula smiled again, then shut off the second bathroom lights and walked into the first with the men. “Well, let’s go check out the rest, shall we?”  
  
All four of them exited the bathroom, and Sam shut off the lights after them.  
  
“This here is the dining area,” Paula said, standing in the middle of an empty space. “That, of course, is the kitchen. All the appliances are in there already.” She walked only a few feet, before turning back to the men, “the living room. Now, all the apartments come with a television, and a DVD player, it’s included in your rent every month. In the corner there is another closet, and right beside it is a storage room. To be honest, I’m not exactly sure what you’d put in there. This apartment seems to have a lot of extra rooms, doesn’t it?” She giggled then cleared her throat, blushing slightly. “Ahem. Well, we have the balcony here. It looks out over our pool. If you wanted to have a view of one of our three courtyards, we could get you that.”  
  
“I don’t think it matters,” John said, smiling slightly.   
  
“No, probably not,” Paula agreed, “and there is, of course, where you came in, any questions?”  
  
“What are the terms of the lease?” Sam asked.  
  
“Well, we allow both cats and dogs, but there’s only one pet allowed, and there’s a weight limit of twenty pounds,” Paula told him. “Big dogs can be dangerous, you know. There’s a security deposit, two hundred dollars, anything else?”  
  
“How close are you to schools?” Dean asked.  
  
“Schools?” Paula repeated, confused. “Aren’t you three a little old for-- you know what? Never mind. We’re actually pretty close to schools. Palm Lane Elementary is just a few minutes away. The junior high is Ball, and then they’d go to Loara. Are you expecting children?”  
  
Sam and Dean glanced at each. “Um, we-- are children allowed here?”  
  
“Oh, of course,” Paula assured them, “not completely fond of them myself, but to each their own. Now, does one of you have a wife, or are you it?”   
  
“We’re it,” John replied.   
  
“How are you all related?” Paula asked, “If I’m not being too forward.”  
  
Sam and Dean glanced at each other again, and John swallowed hard. “No, no, not too forward at all,” John answered. “Well, I-- I am Dean’s father.”   
  
“Oh? Then how is Sam related?” Paula asked.   
  
Dean opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of anything to say. “Sam and I are…” he glanced at Sam helplessly, “life partners?”  
  
“Oh,” Paula nodded, and then smiled. “So you’ll be adopting?”  
  
“Yes,” Sam answered quickly, even as he began rubbing his stomach, “adopting.”  
  
“So when should I be expecting an answer from you on the apartment?” Paula asked suddenly. “A space like this goes very quickly, I’m sure you understand.”  
  
“Well, not today,” John began, “but soon. We’re definitely considering, we just need to get a few other things ironed out first before we make any commitments.”  
  
“Alright,” Paula nodded. “Well, you know the number, so when you have an answer, just call and make an appointment with me. I must say though, I’ll be very sad if you don’t join our little community.” Just then, her cell phone rang. “Can you see yourselves out?” At their nod, Paula rushed out of the room.  
  
“She’ll be very sad,” John mocked, a large pout on his face.   
  
“I think Stepford was an understatement, Dad,” Dean said. “It is really nice here though.”  
  
“I can’t believe you said life partners,” Sam laughed, rolling his eyes. “What happened to boyfriends?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “This is high society, Sam. Life partners sounds elegant, boyfriends sounds--”  
  
“Forget I asked,” Sam interrupted. “Can we go now? I’m tired.”  
  
John nodded. “You sleep, me and Dean will check out the newspapers for work.”  
  
Sam yawned, then grasped onto Dean’s hand, linking fingers.   
  
Dean turned to look at Sam, surprise and confusion on his face.  
  
Sam shrugged. “Hey, you know, since we’re life partners and everything…”  
  

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 15/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** The Winchesters move in and go furniture shopping  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the Mpreg EPIC!!

 

Sam collapsed in the middle of the apartment; right in the big, near-empty space Paula had said was supposed to be the living room.  
  
“Sam!” John called out in shock and fear, but Dean just shook his head.  
  
“Sam, get your ass up off my floor,” Dean commanded, “or I tell Dad the name you put on the lease.”  
  
“Go ahead,” Sam answered, still lying on the floor. “I don’t care. It’s just a name.”  
  
John leaned against the wall, watching Sam make imaginary snow angels in the carpet. “What’d he put?”  
  
“Samuel Colt,” Dean muttered, kicking at his duffel bag.  
  
John snorted and rolled his eyes, “could’ve been worse. What’d _you_ put?”  
  
“Winchester,” Dean answered. “Sam made me. Besides, she already knew that was our last name. It’s not that big of a deal, it’s just a name. Sam, I told you; get off the floor!”  
  
Sam sat up, and rolled his eyes. “Excuse me for enjoying actually having enough space, for once. It’s not a motel room. There’s more than one room and a bathroom. This is our _home_. We live here. This is _our_ floor, and if I want to lie on it, I can.”  
  
“We need beds,” Dean said suddenly, as if the thought they’d actually need something to sleep on just occurred to him. “How much are mattresses? Oh Christ. Can you get used mattresses?”  
  
John smiled slightly then placed a reassuring hand on Dean’s shoulder, trying to calm him down. “Dean, we have money. We’re not poor. You got your first pay check right?”  
  
Dean nodded slowly, eyes staring at the floor.  
  
“And I got mine,” John reminded him. “Plus, you got the money from pool, right?”  
  
Dean nodded again then took a deep breath. “We’re not poor.”  
  
John shook his head, and then patted Dean’s back. “No, we’re not, and we’re going to be fine. Now, you two need a bed first; I think pregnant people are supposed to sleep well … or try, or something. I don’t need one just yet, I’ve slept on worse.”  
  
“Dad, you’re getting a bed,” Sam said, pushing himself up off the floor, “Or at least a couch … or something. You’re not sleeping on the floor.” He grabbed his duffel bag, and hoisted it up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go put this in _our_ room.” He could barely hide his smile as he turned and walked down the hall to the master bedroom.  
  
“He’s really happy,” John said, a smile on his face. “That’s good.”  
  
Dean nodded. “That _is_ good.”  
  
“You’re not happy,” John said, a statement, not a question.  
  
Dean sighed then rubbed at his eyes. “No-- I mean, I don’t know. I want to be happy, for Sam, and for the fact that we have an actual place to live for once, and not just a Motel 6. I mean, I’m having a baby in-- god, six months. But now, it just keeps getting closer, you know?”  
  
John nodded knowingly. “Every day. You know, I think you are happy, but I think you’re scared.”  
  
“Don’t tell Sammy, ‘kay?” Dean asked, glancing up at his father. “I don’t want him to get all worried again. It scares me when he starts getting all worried. What’s taking him so long, anyway?”  
  
John shrugged. “Go check on him if you want. I’ll be out on the balcony,” he said, opening the sliding glass door, “working on my tan!”  
  
Dean chuckled then rolled his eyes. “Sammy?” He walked down the hall, avoiding the bathroom. There was no way in hell he was going back in there if he didn’t absolutely have to. The door to the master bedroom was only open a crack before he pushed it open. Sam was on the other side of the room, looking out the window. “What’s going on?”  
  
Sam just shook his head, but didn’t turn around, or speak.  
  
Dean walked in the room, going over to the window. “Nice view. Nice palm trees.”  
  
Sam nodded then sighed, glancing at Dean. “Last place I lived … didn’t turn out so well.” He sighed again, and then leaned further against the window, nose almost pressed to the glass like a kid looking into a candy store.  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said softly. He didn’t know what to say. Truth be told, they never really talked about Jess that much; never talked about the fact that Sam loved someone else enough to live with them, loved someone enough to think of proposing. Of course, they never talked much about Cassie either. “Yeah,” he said again, still at a loss for words.  
  
“I remember the day we moved in together,” Sam said thoughtfully, glancing at Dean again. “It was like this, but-- but it was different too.”  
  
“Your father wasn’t living with you,” Dean teased, a smile evident in his voice.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam agreed, finally cracking a smile. “Jess was so happy. She kept smiling, and giggling … by the time the day was over it was pretty annoying.” He smiled to himself, and shook his head, obviously lost in thought. “I loved her so much.”  
  
Dean nodded then shifted awkwardly on his feet. He felt like he should leave Sam alone, like Jess was actually there and now Dean was the third wheel.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sam apologized, sensing Dean’s discomfort. “I didn’t mean to--”  
  
“It’s okay,” Dean interrupted, waving his hand. “It’s fine. It must be hard for you, huh?”  
  
Sam shrugged then turned around; leaning back against the wall, hands shoved in his jeans pockets. “No, it’s-- it’s fine. I just … I’m getting tired again.”  
  
“Well, can you hold off for a bit?” Dean asked, turning around too. “We need to go get a mattress and sheets.”  
  
Sam nodded, and slumped against the wall. “You stole the pillows and towels from the motel, didn’t you?”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Wh-- what size mattress are we getting?” Dean asked, mesmerized by all the different types of sheets on the shelves. “How-- what-- Sam! Sam, help me.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, then grasped onto Dean’s hand, pulling him away from the shelf. “Don’t worry about it, Dean.” He led Dean down and out of the aisle, getting back into the main show floor of the Goodwill store. “Dad’s looking at mattresses. He’s getting a double, and we are getting a queen.”  
  
Dean started to smile, but Sam’s grip quickly tightened on his hand.  
  
“Don’t laugh at that!” Sam snapped, pulling Dean over to where John was talking to a salesman.  
  
“You know, for someone who just wanted to get to sleep, you’re pretty strong,” Dean muttered, but allowed himself to be dragged along anyway.  
  
“We’re taking a double and a queen,” John told the salesman, who had his face buried in a notebook, making a small list. “We-- just the top mattress, please. For today.”  
  
The salesman nodded. “What else do you need?”  
  
“A crib,” Dean said, and all three of the other men looked at him.   
  
“Dean, we don’t need a crib right now,” Sam said softly. He quickly glanced at the salesman. “No crib tonight, thank you.”  
  
“You-- you’re adopting, I assume?” the salesman stuttered out, looking at Sam over his glasses.  
  
“Yes,” Sam nodded, tightening his grip on Dean’s hand. “We are.”  
  
The salesman nodded slowly and turned back to John. “So no crib; what else do you need?”  
  
John looked at Dean, who just shrugged, and Sam, who was looking around the floor “well, boys?”  
  
“Uh…do we need dressers?” Dean asked, glancing up at Sam.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Sam nodded. “We’ll need two dressers. Nothing too big, we have large closets.”  
  
The salesman nodded. “Okay, alright. Would that be everything?”  
  
“We’ll be getting sheets too, for the beds,” Sam answered, glancing back at the aisle he had just dragged Dean from. “How much are we going to spend today?” he asked John and Dean. “Are we going to get anything else besides bedroom stuff?”  
  
“A couch would be nice,” John said.   
  
“A couch,” Sam agreed, looking to the salesman. “I don’t really know. We don’t have to get everything today; I think that’s good for now. Now, is this all going to cost a lot?”  
  
The salesman shook his head. “Not much, I’m not sure right now. I don’t know all the prices, but I can probably get you a deal, what with the baby and everything.”  
  
John and Sam nodded thankfully, but Dean couldn’t help feeling like a charity case.  
  
“Are you going to need this all delivered?” the salesman asked.  
  
“No, no, we have a truck,” John answered. “Might have to make a couple trips, but we can get it.”  
  
“Alright,” the salesman nodded. “Now, let’s go find what you need, mattresses first.” He began leading them through the store to where the mattresses were. “Doubles are here, queens are here.”  
  
Dean began to smile again.   
  
“Try them out, see what you like,” the salesman finished, ignoring Dean’s smile.  
  
Dean went off with the salesman, not quite sure which sizes were which, while Sam and John walked through the mattresses together. “Sammy, I feel really stupid buying a bed when I’m only going to be living there for a few more months. Make it a fold out couch, I’ll be fine.”  
  
“Dad, you deserve your own room,” Sam told him. “You’re our father, and everything you’ve done over the years for us…you’re getting your own room.”  
  
John smiled. “Thanks Sammy. But really--”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Dad, stop arguing. You’re getting a bed. Well, a mattress. When you leave, we’ll just shove it in one of our many closets.” Both he and John smiled at that. “We’ll get stuff for a nursery when it gets closer.” Sam sat down on a mattress.   
  
John nodded then sat down on a mattress near Sam. “Yeah, when is that anyway? April?”  
  
Sam nodded then lay back on the mattress, moving around. “I don’t really know how it all works or anything, but middle of April--” he patted his stomach, “-- this thing’s coming out.” Looking around, and seeing that no one else was in listening distance, he continued. “Aren’t you Baby, aren’t you? Yes, you are.” He looked over at John, who was watching him. “What?”  
  
John just gave Sam a small smile, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I ever expected grandchildren.”  
  
“How come?” Sam asked, rolling on his side. “Not even from me?”  
  
John shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess, our line of work … well, mine and Dean’s line of work. I was never sure if you wanted children, Sammy, and I didn’t think Dean would ever settle down. Did you and Jess ever talk about it?”  
  
“Once or twice, but never-- never seriously,” Sam answered. “I always thought I was too young. I guess people can grow up fast.”  
  
John shrugged. “You’re looking pretty comfortable on that bed there,” he pointed out, changing the subject.  
  
Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I am.” He sighed then rolled back over on his back. “Now if Dean would just actually come over here, he could see if he liked it too.”  
  
“Dean!” John called, waving his hand. “Get over here!”  
  
Sam laughed again then waited for Dean to come over to them.   
  
“What’s going on?” Dean asked.  
  
“Get on the mattress with Sam,” John commanded, pointing down at the mattress.   
  
Dean sat down on the mattress and bounced up and down a bit. “Ooh, this is nice.” Sam rolled his eyes and patted the space right beside him; Dean lay down and sighed “very nice.” He rolled onto his left side, then onto his right, then onto his stomach.  
  
“Just say yes or no!” Sam snapped, but he was trying not to laugh.  
  
“Yes,” Dean said, finally rolling back onto his back. “It’s very nice. We’ll take this one, Adam.”  
  
“Adam?” Sam asked in confusion.  
  
The salesman gave a small wave.  
  
“Oh,” Sam nodded slowly. “Hi, Adam.”  
  
“Is that the mattress you’re getting, sir?” Adam asked John.  
  
John shrugged. “Yeah, may as well.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
After they finished at the Goodwill, John dropped Sam off at the grocery store while he and Dean made three trips back to the apartment, seeing as Sam couldn’t do any heavy lifting. After dragging everything up the stairs and putting it all where they wanted, John and Dean collapsed on the couch.   
  
“I’m never moving again,” Dean mumbled, surprised that he was so tired so quickly. John nodded in agreement.  
  
That lasted for about another ten minutes before Dean’s cell phone rang; Sam, ready to be picked up.  
  
Finally, after a minute stare down between the two Winchesters, Dean gave in, and made his way downstairs to the parking lot.   
  
“You better have bought something good,” Dean snapped as they pulled out of the grocery store parking lot. “I’m dead right now.”  
  
“Yet you look so good,” Sam teased, patting Dean’s knee. “You should know though, I draw the line at necrophilia.”  
  
“Shut up,” Dean muttered, resisting the urge to smack Sam in the head. Or fall asleep at the wheel. “You should know Dad and I had to drag all that stuff, up the stairs, by ourselves. You, you had to go and get knocked up. ‘Ooh, I can’t carry anything, might hurt the baby’. Well, that’s great, Sam. Sounds very suspicious to me.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, and tried not to laugh. “Dean, you can sleep when we get back to the apartment. I’m tired too, in case you forgot. _I_ wanted to go to bed two and a half hours ago.” He sighed, then sank down in his seat, knees up against the dashboard, and closed his eyes.  
  
Dean bit his lip, and almost instantly felt better, not as tired. That feeling was quickly overshadowed by guilt. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”  
  
Sam shrugged then leant his head against the door. “Just get us home and to bed.” He yawned, and then wrapped his arms around himself. “Tired,” he muttered softly, obviously close to sleep.  
  
Dean smiled, and pressed his foot harder on the gas.   
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“C’mon Sammy, time for bed,” Dean said, trying to open the door to the apartment and keep Sam from sliding down the wall. He opened the door, and grasped Sam’s hand, pulling him in.   
  
“The couch looks nice,” Sam said quietly, kicking off his shoes. “I should-- put away groceries.”  
  
Dean shook his head, and grabbed the bags, pulling them in from the hallway. “Dad and I can do it. Sam, you’re tired. Go to bed. Everything’s in the dresser, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded and yawned again. “G’night, Dad.”  
  
“Night, Sammy,” John said, turning down the volume on the television.   
  
Sam grabbed at Dean’s arm, getting him to turn back around. “G’night, Dean.” He leaned down for a brush of the lips, a chaste kiss.  
  
Dean smiled, and then patted Sam on the back as he turned to walk down the hallway. “Night, Sammy. At least try and take your jeans off, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded then waved his hand, leaning against the wall as he walked down to the master bedroom. He pushed open the door and smiled at the mattress and the dresser. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The sheets were plain red, and Sam’s choice; but the comforter was Dean’s choice, it was black and had a huge Harley-Davidson Motorcycles logo on it. Sam was convinced that it probably actually belonged to a biker who’s wife decided she wouldn’t have that ugly thing on her bed any longer. He was also convinced that it wouldn’t be long before Sam gave it _back_ to Goodwill.  
  
Sam yawned again, fumbling with the button and zipper on his jeans. Eventually, he got them undone, and he pushed the jeans down, kicking them off. He pulled off his hoodie and dropped it by his jeans. He sat down on the mattress, peeling off his socks. He pulled off his t-shirt, and then finally dropped back on the mattress, moving his legs up onto the bed. He grabbed at the comforter, and covered himself, snuggling into the pillows. Turns out Dean actually _had_ stolen them from the motel. It didn’t take long, mere minutes, before Sam was asleep in his own bed, for the first time in almost a year.  
  
In the living room, John and Dean were watching some old John Wayne movie, beers in hand. “Gotta love the Duke,” Dean sighed, slouching down on his seat.   
  
John murmured in agreement and took a sip of his beer. “How many times have we seen this one?”  
  
Dean looked at John, a tired look his eyes. “Dad, I’m not even sure what this one is.”  
  
John gasped, and brought his hand to his mouth in fake shock “True Grit. _True Grit_. The man won an Oscar for it. You’re obviously not my son.”  
  
Dean nodded and took a sip of his beer. “Gee, thanks Dad. Way to disown me.” He yawned loudly, stretched out his arms, his right arm going behind John on the couch.  
  
John turned slowly to look at Dean. “If that’s your best move, I don’t know how you got Sammy to sleep with you.”  
  
“Ha-ha,” Dean said sarcastically, before moving his arm back to his side.   
  
“Speaking of sleep, get to bed,” John commanded. “You’re tired.”  
  
“And you’re not?” Dean asked, looking at his father with a raised eyebrow.   
  
“I’m not the son, here,” John reminded him. “I’m your father, and I’m telling you to go to bed.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, but pushed himself up anyway. “I haven’t had a bedtime in more than ten years,” Dean mumbled, taking his beer into the kitchen. As he walked by John to go to the bedroom, he smiled a big, fake grin. “Don’t be late getting to bed now!”  
  
“Night, Dean,” John said, settling into the couch.  
  
“Night,” Dean walked down the hallway and into the master bedroom. He smiled to himself when he saw Sam curled up under the sheets, asleep. He quickly undid his jeans then pushed them down, kicking them off to the side. No need to hang them up now, he’d probably just wear them again tomorrow. He toed off his socks, and kept on his t-shirt, then walked over to the mattress. He lifted up Sam’s arm, which was outstretched on Dean’s half of the mattress, then laid down underneath it, dropping the arm back on his chest.  
  
Sam made a soft sound, and his fingers fanned out on Dean’s chest.   
  
“Goodnight, Sammy,” Dean said softly, turning to press a soft kiss to Sam’s cheek. Sam murmured, and his eyelids flickered, but he didn’t wake. Soon, Dean fell asleep next to Sam, one hand gripping his Harley-Davidson comforter.  
  

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 16/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** Sam and Dean get into a fight; old memories from the night Sam left are dredged up, leaving Dean to doubt how Sam feels about him now  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

“Excuse me,” a soft voice came from in front of Dean.  
  
Dean peered above his magazine, and was met with the sight of a young man wearing a worn Breakfast Club t-shirt, frameless glasses on his face. “Yes?”  
  
“You work here?” the man asked.  
  
Dean looked around the store, trying to find Bob to take this guy off his hands. “Yeah,” he answered reluctantly. “Can I help you with something?” He dropped his feet off the counter and set his magazine down.  
  
“Records,” the man said. “Elvis Costello.”  
  
“What?” Dean asked. “Oh. Yeah, we have Elvis Costello. I’m not sure which albums though.”  
  
“Where would I find him?” the man asked, shifting on his feet. He was obviously nervous around Dean.  
  
“Well all the records are near the back there,” Dean said, standing up a bit. “See the pop/rock sign? Under ‘C’, sir.”  
  
The man nodded his thanks, and began making his way across the store.  
  
“Hey, sir?” Dean called suddenly, and the man jumped. “That ‘Veronica’ song, that’s a good one.”  
  
The man stared for a few moments, before smiling and nodding. “Yeah, it is.”  
  
“If you need anymore help, just ask me,” Dean told him, smiling back. He sat back down in his chair and picked up his magazine. A few minutes passed before a different man, this one at best sixteen, came up to the counter. “Yeah?”  
  
The teenager dropped the CD on the counter. “I’ll take this.”  
  
Yellowcard. Inwardly, Dean cringed, but he faked a smile as he scanned the CD. “Fourteen seventy-five,” Dean told him, placing the CD in the bag.  
  
The teenager handed him a ten and a five, then took the bag from the counter.  
  
“Here,” Dean said, flipping the quarter up in the air. “Don’t go spending it all at once now.”  
  
The teenager rolled his eyes then made his way over to the door, almost slamming it behind him.  
  
“Christ,” Dean muttered, as the Elvis Costello man made his way up to the counter. “Oh, did you find everything you were looking for, sir?”  
  
The man nodded then placed three records on the counter carefully, not wanting to break them. “These please.”  
  
Dean picked up the records one by one, scanning the barcode on the plastic packaging the records came in. “That’ll be sixty-seven fifty-six.”  
  
The man pulled out three twenties and a ten, double-checking before he handed the bills over to Dean. “You must be new here. I was in just a bit ago, and didn’t see you.”  
  
Dean got out the change and placed it in the bag. “Oh, just awhile, sir. Couple weeks. You must’ve come in on a Sunday, I don’t work Sundays.”  
  
“Must have,” the man nodded, before taking his bag off the counter. “You take care now.”  
  
Dean nodded, “you too, sir.” He kept standing until the man was out of the store, and then he took his seat again, getting back to his magazine.  
  
“What’s with the ‘sir’ thing?” a voice asked suddenly from beside Dean.  
  
Dean jumped and looked up. “Christ Bob, give a guy some warning before you do that, huh? I don’t know, I was just raised to call my father ‘sir’, so I just--”  
  
“It’s kind of weird,” Bob interrupted, grabbing a box of CDs from under the counter. “Nobody says that anymore.”  
  
“Do you want me to stop?” Dean asked impatiently, tapping his foot against the edge of the counter.  
  
“No,” Bob answered, grabbing a couple discs out of the box before putting it back under the counter. “Doesn’t bother the customers, doesn’t bother me. I’m just saying, you don’t seem like a ‘sir’ kind of guy, is all.”  
  
“If you met my father, you’d understand,” Dean muttered, flipping the page.  
  
“Yeah, when am I gonna meet your dad?” Bob asked, turning back to the counter to grab a roll of tape. “From what I hear, he’s a pretty interesting dude. Oh, and I’m going to need you to work till closing tonight. Nine o’clock, that okay?”  
  
“Yeah, whatever, I’ll just call and tell them to keep supper warm.”  
  
“So what about your dad?” Bob asked, continuing on. “He sounds mean.”  
  
Dean bit his lip. “No, not really. Just a strict father.”  
  
“How’d he deal with the whole ‘gay’ thing?” Bob asked, holding the CDs in one hand as he taped up a poster with the other. “Speaking of which, I want to meet your boyfriend too. You met my girlfriend.”  
  
“No, you dragged her into the store because you said she had the best gaydar out of anyone you know, and you were too much of a pussy to ask me yourself,” Dean reminded him. “I didn’t ask to meet her.”  
  
“You ashamed of him or something?” Bob teased, dropping the tape back on the counter.  
  
Dean snorted. “More like ashamed of you. Bob, I promise, one day, you can meet Sam. One day in the far, far off future. Trust me; he’s just as interested in meeting you as you are him.” He checked the store for anymore customers that might bother him; seeing none, he went back to his magazine.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“I don’t want to meet him,” Sam told Dean, handing his brother his glass of milk. “He sounds weird. I can’t believe you told him you were gay, anyway. He’s your boss; he doesn’t need to know everything about you.”  
  
“I didn’t _tell_ him,” Dean defended. “He had his girlfriend--”  
  
“I can’t believe you told him I’m strict,” John interrupted, before spinning his fork in his spaghetti. “I’m not strict.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “No, not at all. _I_ can’t believe we’re eating spaghetti on the couch. We need to get a dining table, or at least stools to put against the counter. I hate eating in front of the TV.”  
  
“We’ll get a table tomorrow,” John replied, taking a drink of his milk, “if Dean doesn’t have to work till closing again. We need a chair for the living room too; three grown men on a couch is not working for me.”  
  
“We’ve lived here more than a month, how did it take us this long to get something to eat on?” Sam asked, trying to keep his plate from falling off his lap.  
  
“Sam, there’s a lot of things we need,” Dean pointed out. “Stools just weren’t on the top of our list, since we had a couch. We had to get other stuff first … pots, pans … food for you to cook in those pots and pans.”  
  
“It’s not like we don’t have enough money,” Sam reminded him. “You work, Dad works. You also somehow still manage to hustle pool while I’m not looking.”  
  
“Why don’t _you_ work?” Dean asked, ignoring the pool comment. “Explain that one again to me. How did _I_ get sucked into working and you just stay at home all day?”  
  
Sam shrugged then took a drink of his milk. “Just lucky I guess.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “No, seriously. Sam, you need to get a job. At least until the baby comes; you can be all-stay at home mom when you actually have something to mother.”  
  
John chuckled at that, taking a drink of his milk.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. “Maybe Bob can hire me. You know, after he meets me and everything.”  
  
“Sam,” Dean said, almost as a warning.  
  
“Fine, I’ll get a job,” Sam muttered. “I don’t know where exactly you expect me to work, but I’m sure some McDonald’s would hire me.”  
  
“Sam, you got a scholarship to Stanford,” Dean reminded him. “You can get a job somewhere, I’m sure. Just check the newspapers. Get Dad to hire you.”  
  
“A: Dad’s not the boss,” John pointed out, “and B: I’m not letting my pregnant son work on a construction site. Is it weird that that sentence doesn’t freak me out anymore?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “No. Hey, hey Dad, turn up the television. What’s going on?”  
  
John grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. “That doesn’t look good.”  
  
“Tonight, on the ten o’clock news,” it was a young, blonde reporter, and behind her was a small crowd of people, and police officers. “Witnesses say that after the man was stabbed, his assailant vanished-- into thin air.”  
  
“Thin air?” Sam repeated.   
  
The television crew was now zoomed up on a young man, who was shifting on his feet. “He stabbed the guy, and then-- then he stood up, looked around, and just disappeared. He vanished.”  
  
The shot switched to an older man, around John’s age. “This guy didn’t just run off or something. He was there one second, and then he wasn’t. It was … supernatural or something.”  
  
“Crap,” Dean muttered, dropping his fork back onto his plate. “Sounds like a job. Where is that?”  
  
“From downtown Los Angeles, this is Courtney Lapton,” the reporter said, signing off.  
  
“We gotta check it out,” Dean told them, glancing at Sam, then John. “Thin air? People don’t just disappear into thin air.”  
  
“Sounds like a demon to me,” John said, taking a bite of his spaghetti. “Exorcism should do it.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Downtown Los Angeles. Did you two not hear that part? You’ll never be able to find a demon in downtown L.A. Dream on.”  
  
“Sam, that guy murdered somebody!” Dean exclaimed. “Then vanished! A demon, Sam. You can’t be serious. We have to check it out.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “What are you going to do? Google ‘murder’ and ‘vanish’ and see what you get? This isn’t some small town, Dean, it’s L.A. How are you so sure they know what they saw?”  
  
“Right Sam, it’s mass hysteria,” Dean nodded sarcastically. “Dad, tell him.”  
  
“Sam, I-- I don’t know, whatever you two decide,” John said, trying to stay as neutral in this whole thing as he could. “I’m staying out of this.”  
  
“Sam, it’s only a half an hour away,” Dean began, “and once we know what it is, we can fix it. This’ll take a day, two at the most.”  
  
“Days we don’t have!” Sam cried. “We’re busy tomorrow, we just made plans.”  
  
Dean took a drink of his milk then wiped the moustache off his upper lip. “Sam, we don’t need a chair tomorrow, we’ve made it this long.”  
  
“You work on Monday,” Sam reminded him. “So does Dad. We can’t just run off now, we have lives.”  
  
“No, _we_ don’t,” Dean smirked. “Dad and I do. _You_ sit around all day. Doing what, I don’t know. Not working, I know that.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Sam snapped, but it didn’t hold much heat. He pushed himself off the couch and walked into the kitchen, dropping his glass and plate into the sink. “I’m going to bed.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, great, Sammy. Go to bed. That’s what you always do, whenever anything gets rough, you just run off to bed.”  
  
“Dean,” John said warningly. “Don’t.”  
  
Sam shook his head and crossed his arms. “No, Dad, it’s fine. I can handle this myself. Come on Dean, why don’t you tell me how I don’t do anything, how lazy I am.”  
  
Dean smiled, then stood up, walking over to Sam. “Alright, shouldn’t be too hard. I mean, you depend on me and Dad to pay for everything. You have paid for nothing. You don’t pay for the apartment; you didn’t buy anything in here. But you still don’t work. You just sit around all goddamn day, in the apartment you’re not even _paying_ for, doing nothing!”  
  
Sam nodded, looking around the room at everywhere but Dean, trying not to smack his brother. “What do you do at work, Dean? Sit around, do nothing?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Yeah, but at least I get paid for it, freeloader.”  
  
“Fine then,” Sam said, pushing past Dean. “I guess I’ll take my freeloader ways somewhere else. I’m sure I can find someone else to take me in.” He pushed open the bedroom door then went straight to the dresser.  
  
“I’m not putting up with this,” John muttered, standing up. “Dean, stop this. Leave him alone.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Dad, it’s fine. Just a little tiff. Once his hormones calm down, he’ll be fine.”  
  
“Dean,” John said, pushing his son against the wall. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for Dean to get the message. “Leave him _alone_. Now go apologize.”  
  
“He doesn’t do _anything_!” Dean proclaimed. “Dad, we work our asses off--”  
  
“You work at a fucking record store!” Sam screamed, walking back out of the bedroom, duffle bag in hand. “Yeah, work your ass off. Your ass is the only fucking reason you got that job!”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. “And you think anyone would even _look_ at you if you didn’t have an ass like that? Give it up, Sam; your personality isn’t that great.”  
  
“Shut up,” Sam muttered. He walked over to the door, slipping his sneakers on.  
  
John let go of Dean then walked over to the door, watching Sam. “Where are you gonna go?”  
  
Sam shrugged then glanced at John. “I’ll be fine, Dad, I still have a couple credit cards. I’ll just get a motel room.”  
  
“I’m not letting you leave, Sammy,” John said softly, keeping his hand flat against the door. “You can’t just leave.”  
  
“He doesn’t want me here, Dad,” Sam said, equally as soft, glancing at John. “You heard him; I’m a freeloader.” He shrugged, then wiped quickly at his eyes, and cleared his throat. “It’s true. I mean, I complain that we don’t have enough stuff, I make fun of his job, but I don’t do anything about it.”  
  
John sighed, and then dropped his hand from the door. He reached up and patted Sam’s shoulder. “You call when you get to the motel room.” He reached up onto the hook and grabbed the keys for his truck. “Take the truck.” He dropped the keys into Sam’s hand.  
  
Sam looked at the keys in his hand and smiled slightly. “Thanks, Dad.”  
  
Dean was just around the corner, listening to everything they were saying. He had his arms crossed, his bottom lip between his teeth. He heard the door open, and he shifted on his feet, before he turned the corner. “Wait, Sam. Don’t.”  
  
Sam peered around the door from out in the hallway and John turned around.   
  
“I-- I’ll sleep on the couch,” Dean offered, trying to smile. “Just-- just don’t leave. Please.”  
  
Sam looked at John, who was nodding slightly. Sam sighed then nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He stepped back into the apartment, and kicked off his sneakers. He dropped his bag and closed the door. “You-- you don’t have to sleep on the couch. You couldn’t fit on that thing if you tried.”  
  
Dean chuckled slightly, but then cleared his throat and stopped when he wasn’t sure whether Sam was being serious or not. “You sure?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m going to take a shower.” He brushed past John and Dean and walked down to their bedroom.  
  
Dean smiled slightly at John then shifted on his feet. “So uh, I’ll go do the dishes. You watch TV.”  
  
John smiled back then walked out of the small entranceway, back into the living room. “You wash, I’ll dry?” They walked into the kitchen together, and John turned on the tap, grabbing the bottle of dish soap.   
  
Minutes into washing, Dean finally spoke up. “Dad-- Dad, I’m sorry.”  
  
John shrugged and put their milk glasses away. “I’m not the one you should be apologizing to. Talk to Sam.”  
  
Dean nodded. “I don’t know why I said what I did. I mean, I didn’t mean it-- I don’t think I did. I’ve never fought with Sam like that before. Not even when he left.”  
  
John nodded in understanding. “No, I think Sammy and I did most of the fighting when he left.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean said softly, handing John a plate. “You shouldn’t feel bad for it Dad. I mean, I’m sure that you do, but-- but it’s okay. I think he forgave you awhile ago.”  
  
“Dean, I threw him out on his ass,” John pointed out. “I never gave him the option of coming back, I just…I just went crazy. Of course I feel bad.”   
  
_“You’re leaving?” John asked, still slightly in shock.  
  
Sam swallowed hard then nodded slowly. “Ye-- yeah. Tomorrow. I’m taking a bus to Palo Alto.”  
  
John nodded then brought his fist down on the table. “You think you’re better than us?”  
  
“What?” Sam asked, face filling with confusion. “No, I just-- I don’t like this life, Dad.”  
  
“Oh, so you’re better than this life,” John said, his hand in a tight fist. “Is that it? You’re too good for it all?”  
  
“Dad, no,” Sam tried to assure him. “That’s not it at all. I just-- I’m not as good at it as you two are. I’m always slowing you down anyway.”  
  
“Damn right you are,” John muttered. “You don’t appreciate everything I’ve done for you over the years.”  
  
“Dad, yes, I do,” Sam said, trying to not let his eyes fill with tears. “Dad, of course I do. You taught me so much, without the history and the languages you made me learn, I’d never have the grades I do now.”  
  
But John just shook his head, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “If I had known…if I had known that you’d just leave, I never would’ve done it for you.”  
  
“Dad--” Sam began, but John just continued on.  
  
“I should’ve left you in there, in the nursery,” John said, looking up at Sam.  
  
“What?” Sam asked in shock. “Dad, you can’t mean tha--”  
  
John shook his head. “It’s your fault your mother died; I should’ve let you die with her.”  
  
Sam bit his lip then pushed himself up from the table. “You’re a fucking asshole, Dad.”  
  
“Get out of my house, Sam,” John said simply, looking up at his son.  
  
Sam shook his head. “You can’t fucking kick me out! I’m leaving!”  
  
“Then don’t come back!” John yelled, standing up quickly. “You leave now; don’t even think about coming back.”  
  
“I wouldn’t want to come back to a fucking Marine Nazi like you anyway!” Sam screamed. “I’m glad Mom died; she didn’t have to see you like this.”  
  
John’s eyes darkened. “Don’t ever talk about your mother like that again. Get out.”  
  
“I’m going!” Sam screamed, running down the hallway to his and Dean’s room. He pushed by Dean, who had been standing in the shadows, not wanting to take a side. “I bet you’re happy now, aren’t you? You finally have Dad all to yourself, he can just forget about his other son.”  
  
Dean followed Sam into the room, watching as he grabbed his duffel. “It’s not like that Sam. I don’t-- I’m sorry, for what he said. He didn’t mean it, he’s just upset, that-- that you’re leaving. He doesn’t mean it.”  
  
Sam grabbed his jacket and pulled it on, stopping in front of Dean by the door. “I guess this is it, huh?”  
  
“Sam,” Dean sighed. “Sam, don’t go. Come on, I can make it better. I know, sometimes he can get a little loud, but he’s our father. I’m your brother, we need you.”  
  
Sam just shook his head. “I think it’s best if I go now. I’m sorry, Dean.” He pushed by Dean and disappeared down the hall.  
  
Dean leaned against the doorframe as he heard the front door slam, and he cringed. “Sammy.” _  
  
The shower turned off down the hall, and after a few moments, they heard the door to the bedroom, open then close. Dean sighed then took off the rubber gloves. “I’m-- I’m going to go to bed. Night, Dad.”  
  
John nodded. “Night, Dean; and be nice.”  
  
Dean smiled slightly and walked slowly down to the bedrooms. He knocked softly on the door then pushed the door open. Sam was in the middle of the room, pulling on his boxers. “Hi.”  
  
Sam looked up at Dean then walked with his hoodie and jeans to the large closet by the door. “Hi.”  
  
Dean sighed, and closed the door behind him. “Nice shower?”  
  
Sam nodded then closed the closet door. He bit his lip, and opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it. He grabbed his towel and ran it through his hair, quickly drying off. He opened the door to the bathroom and threw the towel in. “Dean--”  
  
“Sam, I’m sorry,” Dean blurted out, cutting off Sam. “For everything I said. I didn’t-- I don’t know why I said it. I’m sorry.”  
  
Sam smiled slightly then nodded. “I know. I forgive you. I forgave you a couple minutes into the shower.”  
  
Dean chuckled and nodded. “I don’t think I ever apologized for the night you left.”  
  
Sam looked at Dean, and swallowed. “What about it?”  
  
“C’mon Sam, you know what I mean,” Dean said, walking towards Sam. “The things Dad said … and I didn’t stop him. We were assholes, Sam. I get it why you left. I would have too.”  
  
“Dean, I told you, I wasn’t leaving you,” Sam reminded him. “You two just never listened to me. I loved you, I loved you both. But yeah, some of it was … pretty harsh.”  
  
“Dad said he wished you were dead,” Dean exclaimed, “and I never did anything about it. I just-- I just wanted to apologize. I don’t want you to hate me anymore.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, and then sat down on the mattress. “I don’t hate you. Who said that?”  
  
Dean walked over to the bed then sat down beside Sam, careful not to touch him. “I don’t know. I just thought-- you left us before Sam. If I had said something different the first time, maybe you wouldn’t’ve been so eager this time.”  
  
“Dean, I don’t hate you,” Sam assured him, shaking his head. “I never did. To be honest, for the first year of college I almost thought I deserved it.”  
  
“Sammy, nobody deserves that night,” Dean told him. “If I could take back anything in my life, it’d be that night. For four years I was scared that you’d never want to talk to me again. I didn’t want to lose you, Sam. Just tell me you forgive me, and we don’t have to talk about it again.”  
  
Sam sighed and nodded. “Of course I forgive you,” Sam said, before he turned to Dean and gave him a quick kiss. “I love you. You’re my baby’s daddy.” He chuckled softly, and gave Dean another kiss. He cupped Dean’s head gently, holding Dean to him; as if afraid he’d leave.   
  
Dean brought his hands up and placed them over Sam’s. “I love you too. I’ll get the lights, you get the bed warm.” He stood over then walked back to the door, flicking off the lights. In the barely-there light of the moon, Dean could see Sam crawling under the sheets. He smiled, then pulled off his t-shirt and pushed down his jeans. Crawling under the covers, he snuggled up against Sam and allowed himself to be pulled into Sam’s long arms. “You gotta know though, I’m not getting this emo on you again until the baby’s born.”   
  
Sam laughed softly then pulled Dean in closer. “I never doubted it for a second.”  
  
They lay together, not sleeping; the only sounds in the room were the sounds of their breathing. Sam’s fingers were absent-mindedly tracing on Dean’s back; Dean pressing soft kisses to Sam’s chest every few seconds. Sam sighed then rolled onto his back, taking Dean with him.   
  
Dean settled onto Sam’s chest, head under Sam’s chin, one leg between Sam’s. “I really am sorry,” he said eventually, nibbling on his thumb. “I really am.”  
  
Sam nodded then pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. “I know.”  
  
Dean nodded and buried his head in Sam’s chest; eyes squeezed shut, trying not to cry. He cleared his throat, then let go of Sam’s hand to wipe at his eyes. “Don’t leave me again, Sammy. Please.”  
  
“I won’t,” Sam said softly, and he could feel Dean trembling in his arms. “I promise.” He nudged at Dean’s chin and when Dean looked up, he pulled him up for a kiss. “I’m not leaving you. Now c’mon, we gotta get to sleep. Lots of research to do tomorrow.”  
  
“Wait, what?” Dean asked, confused. “I thought we weren’t--”  
  
Sam shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal. I can wait one day to get something to eat on. People are dying.” He yawned, and Dean laid back down. “Night, Dean.”  
  
Dean yawned too, and nodded, his eyes drifting shut. “Night, Sammy.”  
  

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 17/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** NC-17 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** Once the identity of the demon is discovered, Sam tries to convince Dean to let this one go  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_  
 

Shut up and eat your cereal,” Sam mumbled, before flicking a cornflake at Dean. They were sitting on the counter in the kitchen; Dean cross-legged and Sam with his long legs dangling, ankles banging into the cupboards every time he moved. Dean had got to come home early, but nobody was up to making supper. They had the laptop open and on between them, trying to find the demon from downtown L.A, and the journal was on Dean’s lap.  
  
Dean snorted. “So mature Sam. God, we’re never going to find this, we don’t have enough to go on.”   
  
“There’s always shopping,” Sam said hopefully, but only half-seriously. He didn’t actually think Dean would be willing to give up a demon hunt to get a dining table. “Maybe we need Dad’s help. Or Bobby’s, we can call Bobby.”  
  
John walked into the kitchen, hungry for supper. “What the hell are you boys doing on my counter?” John asked. “And we don’t need to call Bobby. We can find this on our own.”  
  
Dean shoved a spoonful of Special K into his mouth, and _then_ decided to answer. “We’f been wooking, we can’t find anyfing,” he mumbled out, milk dribbling out of the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Christ,” Sam muttered, handing Dean a roll of paper towel. “All we have is the murder and the vanishing, Dad. There’s nothing else. It could be anything.”  
  
John leaned against the counter and nodded. “Plus no witness description of the guy-- we have to wait until there’s another sighting.”  
  
Dean gulped his cereal down, then wiped at his mouth-- with his arm, heedless of the paper towel. “We wait till someone else dies? Come on, Dad, even _I_ see the flaw in that plan.”  
  
“You take Sammy shopping,” John decided, pouring his coffee, “I stay here and watch the news. Everyone’s happy.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes then dropped his spoon into the bowl, little droplets of milk landing on his hand. “You serious?”  
  
“Well what’s _your_ plan?” John asked, raising an eyebrow. “Go to L.A. and throw holy water and say ‘Christo’ to everyone within listening distance?”  
  
Dean shrugged, “better than sitting around and waiting for someone else to die.”  
  
“We’re not even sure it _is_ a demon,” Sam reminded them softly. “I mean, we take the word of two completely unreliable witnesses, who say someone disappeared into thin air. Maybe he just ducked out of sight.”  
  
“Ducked out of sight,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Pfft, yeah right. You really think that’s what happened?”  
  
Sam shrugged then hopped off the counter, dropping his bowl in the sink. “You don’t know that _isn’t_ what happened. I’m just saying, are we sure we want to spend all this time on something that might just be a guy who needs new glasses and a guy who had too much to drink?”  
  
“Which is why you two are going shopping,” John told them, setting his coffee mug on the counter. “No arguments, Dean. Once you two get dressed; take the truck.”  
  
Dean sighed then nodded finally, setting his bowl in the sink beside Sam’s. “Yes, sir.” He glanced up at the clock on the wall. “We’ll leave at six-thirty, that okay, Sammy?”  
  
Sam nodded, then brushed past Dean, and walked into the living room, flopping down on the couch. He grabbed the remote then turned on the television, purposely avoiding any news programs as to not see anymore reports about vanishing murderers.   
  
Dean sighed, then rubbed his eyes, and followed Sam out into the living room. He sat down on the couch, and set his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “You okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, and crossed his arms, dropping the remote on Dean’s lap. “Yeah, I’m fine.”  
  
“You sure?” Dean asked softly, moving closer to Sam.  
  
Sam shrugged. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? I’m just a little tired.”  
  
John stayed in the kitchen, drinking his coffee and eating his supper. He knew there was no room for him on the couch, and he wasn’t sure if Sam and Dean were still fighting, and he didn’t want to get in the middle of it.  
  
Dean sighed again then pressed a quick kiss to Sam’s temple. “I’m gonna go take a shower. You want to wash my back?” He smiled and held out his hand for Sam to take.  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow, and glanced down at Dean’s hand, then up at Dean.  
  
“I’ll be sad if you don’t,” Dean prodded. “C’mon, Sammy. Nice hot shower…nice hot man. Where’s the downside?”  
  
Sam sighed, then grabbed onto Dean’s hand, standing up. He followed Dean into the first bathroom, then into the second, with the shower. He leaned against the door as Dean turned on the water. “Are you mad at me?”  
  
Dean stuck his hand under the water then looked back at Sam. “No. Why would _I_ be mad at _you_? If anything, it should be the other way around.”  
  
Sam shrugged and pushed himself off the door, “because I don’t want to do this hunt thing.” He stuck his hand under the water and nodded at Dean. He pulled off his t-shirt, and pushed down his boxers, kicking them to the side. He stepped in under the water, and watched as Dean stripped down. He moved aside as Dean stepped into the shower, and pulled the curtain closed.  
  
Dean let out a satisfied sigh at the feeling of the water beating down on him. Sam stepped up behind him, and wrapped his arms around his waist, content to just be there with Dean. “I told you, Dean, I forgive you.”  
  
Dean nodded then leaned back against Sam, letting him hold a lot of his weight. “I’m still scared, Sam. You left me before.”  
  
Sam nodded then pressed a kiss to the back of Dean’s neck, resting his forehead against the back of Dean’s head. “I don’t regret leaving, Dean. I needed to leave. But when I think that we-- we could’ve had this so long ago. When I think that Jess would’ve lived…sometimes I wish maybe I had fought harder to get you to come with me.” He kissed Dean’s neck again, and held him tighter. “Now what was that about me washing your back?”  
  
Dean chuckled and grabbed the shower gel, handing it back to Sam. “I’m so glad you’re my love slave.”  
  
Sam snorted, then poured a glob of the gel on his hand, and began rubbing it onto Dean’s back, massaging the taut muscles beneath the golden skin. “I don’t know if ‘love slave’ is the correct term or not.”   
  
Dean sighed thoughtfully. After a few moments, he shook his head. “No, it’s definitely love slave.” He groaned as Sam’s large hands pressed into a particularly tense spot. “Oh fuck, you’re good at that.” Guarantee   
  
“I know,” Sam said, smile evident in his voice. He reached around Dean to grab the washcloth, and Sam’s cock dragged across Dean’s hip. He bit back a moan as Dean turned around to face him. “I wasn’t done with your back,” Sam protested softly, waving the washcloth.  
  
“That can wait,” Dean said, taking the washcloth from Sam, dropping behind him. “Now are you gonna let me fuck you, or not?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, and tried not to smile. “Is that your best line?” He didn’t wait for an answer before pulling Dean in for a rough bruising kiss, wincing as Dean’s fingers entangled in his hair, pulling him in closer. One arm wrapped around Dean’s waist as the other fumbled for the tap. “Can’t-- can’t waste water,” he panted, turning off the water.   
  
Dean smiled then took a step to grab the shower gel again; he managed to get it in his hand before he slipped on the wet porcelain.  
  
Sam automatically lunged, and grabbed Dean’s arms. He held him up, while trying his best not to laugh his ass off, but apparently, not trying hard enough, because he soon erupted into laughter. “That was awesome.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, and looked at the floor, trying to hide his blush. “Shut up.”  
  
Sam kept laughing, leaning against the tiled wall. “You’re retarded.”  
  
Dean huffed and kicked the inside of Sam’s ankle.   
  
Sam’s eyes opened wide as his feet fell out from under him and he slid to the floor, arms shooting out to help break his fall. Sprawled on the bottom of the shower, one arm above his head, he glared up at Dean from under his bangs. “What the hell was that for?”  
  
“You laughed at me!” Dean exclaimed.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, then pressed his hands to the floor and tried to stand up, but his feet just slipped again. “Dean, you kicked me; you can at least help me up.”  
  
Dean shook his head, and crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “I don’t think so, Sam. If you hadn’t laughed at me, we could be doing it right now.”  
  
Sam shook his head right back. “If you hadn’t _fallen_ , we’d be doing it right now.”  
  
“I slipped, you fell,” Dean pointed out, reaching his hand out to Sam. “Maybe we should just finish the shower.” He pulled and Sam stood and somehow neither of them managed to fall. He turned back around and turned the water back on, getting it to the right temperature. Sam reached down and grabbed the washcloth, standing back up to finish washing the shower gel off Dean’s back.   
  
“I’m sorry I laughed,” Sam said softly, running the cloth up and down Dean’s back as Dean ran the bar of soap over his arms and chest.  
  
“I’m sorry I kicked you,” Dean muttered.  
  
Sam smiled and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “It’s okay, I kind of deserved it. Almost.” He handed Dean the washcloth, and he grabbed the bar of soap from him, setting it down and replacing it the bottle of shower gel. “Get my back for me?”  
  
Dean nodded then placed a kiss between Sam’s shoulder bones, almost as high as he could reach without standing on his tip-toes or tilting his head. “Without each other, we would’ve gone through life without a thoroughly clean back.” He opened the top of the shower gel and smiled to himself. He poured it on fingers, and placed the bottle back down within his reach. He trailed his fingers down Sam’s back, feeling each vertebra under his fingers, over Sam’s tailbone, before moving a few more inches to tease Sam’s entrance.  
  
Sam gasped, and then shivered, pressing his hips back, and the tips of Dean’s fingers slid in. He dropped his head forward and reached his arms out, leaning against the wall.  
  
Dean wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist, dancing his fingers along Sam’s hardening length with one hand as he slid his fingers further into Sam. “I love you, Sammy,” he mumbled into Sam’s back.  
  
Sam nodded, and bit at his lip as Dean’s fingers stretched him. “Just do it,” he muttered, glancing back at Dean. “I can take you.”  
  
“You sure?” Dean asked, lifting himself off Sam’s back.  
  
Sam nodded again then dropped his head back down. “I’m sure.”  
  
Dean grabbed the shower gel off the ledge again, and squeezed more on his palm, slicking himself. He dropped the tube to the floor, and began stroking Sam as he began pushing inside.   
  
Sam let out a broken gasp, and his breath began coming in pants. His eyes squeezed shut, and he tried to grab onto something, but his fingers only met with slick tile.   
  
“You okay?” Dean asked, slowly sliding into Sam.  
  
Sam nodded furiously, then let go of the wall to reach back and try to grab at Dean’s hips, trying to pull him closer. He groaned as Dean filled him completely, and his breath started coming faster. “Love you.”  
  
Dean moaned as he began pumping his hips slowly, moving inside Sam. “The baby okay?” Sam nodded, and placed his hand over Dean’s on his cock, trying to make him go faster. “No, Sam, slowly. I want--” he groaned softly, “-- to go slow.”  
  
Sam cried out, this time in frustration, and hit his fist against the wall. “Dean… _please_ ,” he begged, and let out a whine when Dean kept his slow speed. “Dean, I-- I can’t-- please, move.”  
  
Dean smiled against the nape of Sam’s neck, but did begin to stroke Sam faster. “That better?”  
  
Sam nodded, and shuddered when Dean hit his prostate. “Fuck. We-- we have to hurry. D--Dad--”  
  
“Shh!” Dean snapped. “Don’t talk about him; not now.” He let his other hand run its way over Sam’s chest; he loved the feeling of Sam beneath him, quivering muscles underneath the taut skin. “Not now,” he said again, softly. He laid his head against Sam’s back, his cheek pressed to the soaked skin underneath it. “I love you, Sammy.” He was still pumping his hips slowly, but his fist was moving quicker, and soon, Sam was shuddering and gasping beneath him.  
  
Sam head dropped back, his mouth open and he let out a short whine, before he thrust his hips into Dean’s palm one last time.  
  
The feeling of Sam around Dean coming pushed Dean over the edge, and he thrust into Sam only a couple more times before he came inside him. He panted against Sam’s back, trying to catch his breath. But before long, he realized the water beating down on him was _freezing_. “Holy shit,” he muttered, pulling out of Sam slowly before turning around to shut off the tap. “You okay?” he asked softly, brushing Sam’s hair off his forehead.  
  
Sam nodded slowly, still trying to get back to himself, then rubbed at his eyes. “I don’t like doing it like that,” he admitted softly.   
  
Dean stepped out of the tub, before looking around and realizing the towels were in the linen closet, in the other bathroom. “Like what?” he asked, opening the door to the connecting bath, going to the closet to grab a couple towels.  
  
Sam stepped out of the tub, and took the towel from Dean, wrapping it around his waist. “I like to see you.”  
  
Dean nodded and stood up straighter, kissing Sam gently on the lips. “I know. I know that. You want to try wrapping your legs around my waist in the shower? We can barely stand in there now.”  
  
Sam bit his lip, trying not to laugh at the memory of Dean slipping. “Good point.”  
  
Dean glared at Sam, head cocked to the side. “You’re laughing at me again, aren’t you?”  
  
Sam shook his head, but as he began to laugh again, the shake turned into a nod. “Yes, yes I am,” he managed to get out between laughs. “You’re retarded.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“In other news, the vanishing killer has struck again.”  
  
John sat up straighter, and turned up the volume on the television.  
  
“This time, the victim was a convenience store owner,” the reporter continued. “The killer also shot at a young couple in the store, but luckily, they survived. As well as an eye-witness report, there is also a security video of the perpetrator.” A grainy, black and white image then appeared on screen. “And yes, it does appear that after the killer ran out of bullets, he vanished from the screen.”  
  
John sighed then folded his hands, still intently watching the news report.  
  
“It _appears_ that the shooter vanished after committing the crime,” a different person on screen said, this time, an older man. “But that may not be the case. Until we further analyze this video, and get more detailed witness reports, we are treating this as a glitch in the tape; a glitch long enough for the shooter to leave the store.”  
  
“The victim, whose name has yet to be released by authorities, was forty-seven years of age,” the reporter finished.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“We could get four, and then just put the fourth in storage until we actually need it,” Sam suggested. He sighed then looked around. Again remembering no one there knew they were brothers, he slipped his hand into Dean’s, linking their fingers “whatever you want.”  
  
Dean tightened his hand in Sam’s and sighed himself. “Let’s just get three. We’re not ever going to need a fourth. What else did we want to get today?”  
  
“A chair,” Sam answered, using his height as an advantage to see more of the items than Dean, “for the living room. I’m guessing it’s going to be more Dad’s chair, than ours.”  
  
Dean nodded in agreement then looked around as they walked through the endless furniture. “It should be black. Dad likes black. What about that one?” A La-Z-Boy chair, and in the black Dean had just mentioned. “Maybe-- maybe like a present?”  
  
Sam nodded and shifted on his feet. “Hey, can you take care of this? There’s-- there’s something I want to look at.”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Dean nodded, studying Sam. “You okay?”  
  
“Is that like your anthem now?” Sam joked, slipping his hand out from Dean’s. “‘Cause this is mine: I’m fine. I just wanna look at something. Look, there’s your friend, Adam.” He gave a small wave then walked away from Dean.  
  
“Hey, Adam!” Dean called, watching as Sam walked away. “You miss us?”  
  
After buying the dining table, the three chairs, and then the La-Z-Boy, and arranging for them to take them back to the apartment themselves, albeit making more than one trip, Dean wandered off in search of Sam, finally finding him near the back. “Hey, Sammy, what’s going on?”  
  
Sam glanced up then blushed slightly, as if embarrassed to be where Dean had found him. “N-- nothing. Just looking.”  
  
Dean walked up beside Sam and finally figured out what exactly Sam was looking at. “I thought we weren’t getting a crib yet.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No, no, we’re not. I just, I wanted to see. I wanted to picture our baby in one. What do you think?”   
  
Dean sighed then looked around, examining the crib. “Yeah, it’s-- it’s nice. They all kind of look the same to me though. Can we go now?” He turned to leave, but Sam grabbed onto his arm before he could. “C’mon Sammy, I got what we needed. We’re almost broke, so no more healthy food for you till I get paid again, but I got it.”  
  
“What’s wrong?” Sam asked softly, pulling Dean back to the crib.   
  
“Nothing, I just want to get out of here,” Dean replied, looking up at Sam. “I don’t want to do this now, okay? Can we go?”  
  
Sam shook his head, not letting his grip on Dean’s jacket falter. “Tell me. Please. What’s wrong?”  
  
Dean sighed again, and then reached up to scratch his head. “It’s yours.”  
  
“What?” Sam asked. “What’s my what?”  
  
“The crib,” Dean answered, glancing at Sam. “The crib ... it looks like the one _you_ had before-- before Mom-- I don’t like it, okay?”  
  
Sam just stared at Dean, before nodding slowly. “Yeah, it’s fine. C’mon, let’s get out of here. And when we do get the crib, you can pick it out.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked, linking fingers with Sam again.   
  
“Yeah,” Sam told him, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “Now come on, let’s go. And call Dad; tell him he’s going to have to do some heavy lifting when we get back.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Okay, Dad, we’ve gotten everything up,” Dean said, near breathlessness, chucking off his jacket. “Now, what’s so important? What’s wrong?”  
  
“The demon,” John answered quickly, before turning to the television. “It’s on all the news channels. The guy vanished-- on film! At first, they thought it was just a glitch, but the time stamp…it’s a demon. I don’t know which one yet, or how we’re even going to find this guy in L.A., but it’s a demon.”  
  
Dean smiled, a smile that said _I fuckin’ knew it_ , but Sam just rolled his eyes and groaned, sitting down in one of the new kitchen chairs. “I can’t believe this,” Sam muttered, dropping his head to his folded arms on the table.   
  
“They’ve been showing the video since you guys left,” John continued. “They’re hoping someone will recognize him, give us a name.”   
  
“A murdering, vanishing demon,” Dean said, nodding. “Okay-- anything at _all_ coming to mind, Dad?”  
  
John nodded, then snapped his fingers. He seemed excited enough for everyone. “There is this one guy, well, a couple, but there’s this one; Caacrinolaas.”  
  
“Huh?” Dean asked, not sure what the hell just came out of his father’s mouth.  
  
“Caacrinolaas,” John repeated, slower this time, “...Glasya-Labolas to some. Now, so far, all he has in common is the ability to incite murder and make a man vanish. If it’s him, he’s holding out.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Dean asked, taking a seat beside Sam, who still had his head in his arms. “Holding out?”  
  
“Captain of manslaughter and bloodshed,” John answered, and finally, Sam raised his head. “Two murders…not so much bloodshed. If it’s him, he’s going to do something bigger.”  
  
“Fuck no,” Sam said, shaking his head. “If he’s going to do something bigger, I don’t want us in the middle of it.”  
  
“Sam--” John began.  
  
“No!” Sam interrupted. “C’mon, Dad, this guy isn’t doing anything to us. It’s fine, and as much as I’d like to, we can’t save everyone. I’m not risking our lives, not now.”   
  
“Sam, what do you mean?” Dean asked. “Exorcism, we’ve done it before, it’s not that big of a deal.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Why don’t you two ever listen to me? Okay, fuck, I know I’m not as good at this as either of you, but it doesn’t mean you can just ignore me all the time!”  
  
“Sammy, we’re not ignoring you,” John said softly. “Is-- is it the baby? You don’t want to put the baby in danger? Dean and I can handle it.”  
  
“Bloodshed!” Sam yelled, pounding his fist on the table. “You said it yourself, he’s holding back. And who better than to release it all on than the people who are trying to stop him? This isn’t safe, and I’m not letting you two do it.”  
  
“Sam, two people have died here, okay?” Dean reminded him, “innocents. We can’t just stand by and let that happen.”  
  
“Two people,” Sam nodded, “out of twelve and a half million, Dean. That’s how many people are in Los Angeles, and it gets bigger every day. People die, every day. Not just in L.A., but everywhere. We leave this guy alone, the odds that he comes after us-- I’m guessing there are better odds of a plane crashing; three in twelve point five million. I say we leave him alone.”   
  
Dean rolled his eyes, and John just stared. “You’re serious, Sammy?” John asked, taking a deep breath.  
  
“Yeah, I’m serious,” Sam answered. “I don’t-- I don’t want to do this one. I want to forget it.”  
  
Dean sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “I can’t just forget this, Sam.”   
  
“Maybe it’s worth considering,” John said softly, glancing over at Dean. “Maybe Sammy’s right here, maybe we should leave it alone.”  
  
“That’s a lot of maybes there, Dad,” Dean pointed out. “Maybe this guy won’t kill all of L.A. But maybe he will, you willing to put that on your conscience?”  
  
Sam sighed, then brought his feet up to his chair, knees to his chest, and sighed again. He wrapped his arms around his legs, and rested his head on his knees. “I don’t want to fight today, _please_.”  
  
“We’re not fighting, Sam,” Dean snapped. “We’re just having a discussion. Dad, if you don’t want to do this, then fine, whatever. You and Sammy can stay here, I’ll do it.”  
  
“You can’t perform an exorcism yourself,” Sam said, lifting his head slightly. “You don’t know Latin. Dean, please don’t do this. _Please_. Don’t risk it. Please.”  
  
Dean glanced up at John, then back at Sam. “Sammy…people are dying.”  
  
“I know, Dean,” Sam said softly. “I know, okay? You don’t think that pisses me off? You don’t think I wish all the fucking demons would just go away, and leave us alone? I know people are dying, and I know that more probably will. I just don’t want them to be us!” He rubbed his eyes then dropped his feet back to the floor, standing up. “Don’t do anything, Dean. Please?”  
  
Dean sighed then nodded, finally. “Fine, I won’t do anything.”  
  
“Breaking news in the vanishing killer case,” they heard suddenly from the television. “Witnesses have come forward, identifying the killer as Harvey Kelley. When police officers went to Kelley’s apartment to apprehend him, he was gone, meaning that there is a killer on the streets. Police found evidence of Satanic rituals in his apartment, leading police to believe Kelley’s motives may be of a demonic influence.”  
  
“Little do they know…” Dean muttered.  
  
“If you see this man, please, contact the police,” the reporter continued. “He is presumed to be armed.”  
  
“Harvey Kelley,” Dean said, nodding his head. “We know what he looks like, we know he’s into the demon stuff…we’ve got him now.”  
  
“Dean!” Sam cried out in disbelief. “You just said you weren’t going to do anything.”  
  
“That was before, when we had no idea who this guy was, or where we could find him,” Dean explained. “Now that we have the guy, we can find him, exorcise him, everything’s fine.”  
  
“Everything is _not_ fine,” Sam told him, anger evident in his voice. “Fuck you.” He turned on his feet then walked down the hall, slamming the bedroom door.  
  
“Dean,” John said softly, turning off the television. “You can’t do this alone. Sam’s right, you’ve never been good at Latin. You couldn’t perform an exorcism on your own.”  
  
Dean looked up at John, a hopeful look in his eyes. “I won’t have to.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam rolled over in his bed, taking a deep breath before his eyes flickered open. He groaned then yawned, stretching his arms and legs out. “Dean.” He finally looked around, and saw that Dean wasn’t lying with him. He glanced at his watch, and saw that it was only seven, two hours before Dean had to be at work. He sat up then yawned again, rubbing his eyes. He stood up and walked slowly out of the room, going into the kitchen to get coffee. “Dean?” The shower wasn’t on, and neither was the television. “Dean?” He walked back down the hallway, and knocked on John’s bedroom. “Dad?” he knocked softly, then opened the door. Empty. Sam flicked on the lights and walked into the room. He pressed a hand to the sheets. Cold, like they hadn’t been slept on in hours. Getting an idea of what happened he walked to John’s dresser, and opened the bottom drawer; his book on exorcisms, gone. “Fuck.”  
  
Sam ran out of the room quickly, and to the door, slipping his feet quickly into his sneakers. He ran down the stairwell and out of the building, through the courtyard to the parking lot. He scanned the lot quickly; The Impala; still there. The truck…gone. “Fuck!” He sniffled then rubbed his eyes, trying to keep his tears from spilling over. He walked back to the apartment slowly, arms wrapped around himself. Opening the door, he walked back inside, kicking off his sneakers. As he went back into the kitchen, deciding now would be a _great_ time for that coffee. Then, he saw a piece of paper on the counter, beside the box of cereal.  
  
_Sorry Sammy, but I just couldn’t stay. Not with that bastard out there. Don’t worry, Dad’s with me, and we both called in sick today. We’ll be back soon; we won’t miss too much work. I swear. We’ll be fine. Love you, Dean._  
  
Sam rolled his eyes then crumpled the paper, throwing it down to the floor. “ _Fuck_.” He wiped at his eyes, and began to walk out of the kitchen, when he was hit with a wave of fatigue. His head began to pound along with his limbs. He staggered to the dining room table, before slumping down in a chair. He rubbed his stomach, before dropping his head down to the table.  
 


	18. Chapter 18

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 18/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** Dean and John find Harvey Kelley's apartment, and discover who's to be his next victim  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_  
 

“Dean, I’m not really a fan of breaking into apartments,” John said, a harsh whisper, staying as close to Dean as he could. “What makes you so sure there’s going to be anything in there for us anyway?”  
  
Dean glanced around then ducked into the alley, planning to go up the fire escape. “I’m not sure about anything right now, Dad, but I do know it couldn’t hurt. Plus, I promised Sam we wouldn’t be gone long, so we gotta get this done.” He began climbing quickly.  
  
John followed close behind him, but he still had a feeling in his stomach that this wasn’t going to go very well. “Should’ve listened to Sam,” John muttered, pausing for only a moment before he continued on after Dean. “Dean, maybe Sam was right.”  
  
Dean stopped moving, and looked back down at John. “Dad, this is what we do. It’ll be fine. Don’t chicken out on me now, old man.”  
  
John rolled his eyes, but kept moving anyway. “We should’ve brought him with us, Dean.  
  
“Dad, can we talk about this later?” Dean asked, stopping at the window of Kelley’s apartment. “Like when we’re not breaking into an apartment, please? Now shh.” He offered his father a hand to help the rest of the way, but John just smacked it away. “Now, you’re sure there was no police on the outside of the door?”  
  
John nodded. “Of course I’m sure. I checked, didn’t I?” He pushed past Dean and opened the window into the apartment carefully, trying to keep it quiet. He stuck his head in; double-checking no one was in there then climbed in, equally careful and quiet. Dean climbed in after him then looked around himself. “What are you looking for, Dean?”  
  
“Anything to tell us where he might go,” Dean replied, walking slowly through the room.  
  
“Dean, I think the police have probably already bagged and tagged anything like that,” John pointed out. “I can’t believe I let you drag me into this.”  
  
“Dad, you can kick my ass,” Dean said, glancing at his father. “If you didn’t want to come, you really think you’d be here? And you were right, I can’t read Latin.”  
  
“We left your brother _alone_ ,” John reminded Dean. “You’re not worried about him?”  
  
“Sam can take care of himself, Dad,” Dean answered, going through papers on the desk. “Where are you, Kelley?” Dean muttered as he continued through the room. “Where would _I_ go, if I was possessed by a demon and just murdered two people?” He walked over to a full and cluttered bulletin board. “An invocation spell, Dad, this guy invoked your Cock-rhino-lass guy.”   
  
“Caacrinolaas,” John corrected, walking over to the bulletin board. He lifted the invocation spell, to see what was underneath. “Wait, look at these pictures. That’s the first guy who died…and that’s the convenience store owner. They weren’t just random killings.”  
  
“You think Kelley invoked a demon to help him kill people?” Dean asked, glancing at his father. “Well wait; if they’re who he’s killed…is that guy his next victim?” He unpinned the picture, and handed it to John. “Why didn’t the police take any of this?”  
  
“The pictures were under everything else,” John suggested, looking over the picture. “How are we supposed to know who this guy is, or where he lives?” He held the picture up to Dean. “Recognize him?”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, but studied the picture anyway. “Actually…I do. Elvis Costello.”  
  
John looked at Dean in confusion then at the picture. “This isn’t Elvis Costello. Why would he want to kill Elvis Costello?”  
  
Dean shook his head, then snatched the picture of John’s hand and looked closer. “No, no, it isn’t Elvis Costello. This guy was in the record store the other day. He bought like, three Elvis Costello records.”  
  
“Get a name?” John asked.  
  
Dean shook his head again. “No, no I didn’t. But um…he’s been in there before. Bob might know who he is.” He reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone, quickly dialling work. “Come on, Bob, pick up the phone.”  
  
Bob poked his head out of the stock room. The phone was ringing. He groaned then slowly made his way up to the front desk. He sat down in the chair and picked up the receiver. “Yo.”  
  
“Yes!” Dean cheered softly. “Bob, it’s me, Dean.”  
  
Bob rolled his eyes. “Thought you were sick, Dean,” he reminded him. “Unless it was just one of those you know,” he checked his watch, “three hour flu’s.”  
  
“Bob, I know, okay? But I need your help with something, please,” Dean pleaded. “You know that nerdy guy who comes in a lot?”  
  
“We get a lot of nerdy people, Dean,” Bob said flatly, uninterested in this conversation. “Describe him.”  
  
“Buys a lot of Elvis Costello,” Dean said. “He wears glasses, with-- without the frames. Last time he was in he had a Breakfast Club t-shirt on.”  
  
“Oh, yeah, that’s Christopher,” Bob answered, flipping through a magazine.  
  
“Excuse me--” a kid at the counter began.  
  
Bob covered the mouthpiece of the phone, and leaned forward. “Hey kid, can’t you see I’m busy here? Shoo.” He lifted his hand and went back to Dean. “Yeah, he _is_ pretty nerdy, huh?”  
  
“Christopher,” Dean said softly to his father. “Christopher what, Bob? I need a last name. Or a phone number, or address ... something.”   
  
“Christopher Plummer,” Bob said automatically.   
  
Dean groaned, and rolled his eyes. “He’s not Christopher Plummer, Bob. Think.”  
  
“Christopher Lee?” Bob asked, picking at his nails. “Oh man, maybe it was Bruce Lee. Oh shit. No, not Bruce Lee. Bob Lee.” He giggled to himself softly. “Bob Carlton. That was it. His name is Bob Carlton.”  
  
“Bob!” Dean practically screeched into the phone. “ _You’re_ Bob Carlton. Bob, this is serious, I need you to remember his name. Does Christopher have a phone number?”  
  
There was a pause on the line, before Bob answered, “Who’s Christopher?”  
  
“Christopher!” Dean yelled. “The nerdy guy! Bob, don’t do this to me. Why are you high already anyway? Bob, you know the killer on the news, the one that vanished?”  
  
“Oh yeah, that’s pretty weird,” Bob replied, nodding his head. “Oh my god…Christopher Plummer is the vanishing killer? Man, I should call somebody.”  
  
Dean dropped his cell phone and took a couple deep breaths. “Bob, it’s not Christopher Plummer. _Not_ Christopher Plummer. But Christopher, the nerdy Christopher…well he’s going to die if you don’t help me out here,” Dean explained. “Now come on, Bob. Think. Think. Please.” Bob sighed then Dean heard typing on the computer keyboard. “Bob, this is not the time.”  
  
“Shut up!” Bob snapped. “I’m looking through that dinky sign-up thing we have here; free records or whatever. He’s on it. Christopher…Christopher…oh! Here it is; Christopher Ferric. You want his phone number?”  
  
“Yes, please,” Dean answered.  
  
“714-555-8898,” Bob ran off. “He lives in Pasadena. Do you want me to call him for you?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “No, no, that’s okay, Bob. Thanks for helping me out here. I’ll be in for work tomorrow, okay?”  
  
“Whatever, dude,” and then Dean heard the click of the receiver.  
  
“Well?” John asked, completely unsure of what had gone on during that conversation. “Did you get his name, or number?”  
  
Dean dropped his cell phone back in his jacket. “Christopher Ferric. 714-555-8898. He lives in Pasadena. Let’s go get him.”  
  
John glanced at Dean, an expectant look in his eyes. “If you’re not going to say it, I will.”  
  
Dean had been walking back over to the window, but stopped and turned to John when he had spoken. “Say what?”  
  
“Sam,” John said simply, following Dean to the window. “We know who this guy’s going after, and I think we have every intention of performing an exorcism here, and you _still_ don’t want to get him.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and climbed out onto the fire escape. “Dad, he doesn’t want to come. He’ll be fine. I left him a note; he knows what’s going on.”  
  
John climbed out after him then closed the window behind him. “Last time we left your brother alone to go on a hunt…he must have been--”  
  
“Thirteen,” Dean answered, climbing back down to the asphalt quickly. “Werewolf. You didn’t want him to have nightmares.” He hopped off the ladder onto the ground and looked up at John, as he did the same. “He’s not coming with us, Dad. Now come on, we’ve gotta find Christopher and who knows where the hell Kelley is.”  
  
They climbed into the truck quickly, and pulled away from the curb. Dean got out his cell phone again, and dialled Christopher’s number. “You have to pick up, Christopher,” Dean muttered, tapping his foot on the floor. “Please-- Hi! Is this Christopher?”  
  
Christopher rubbed his eyes and sat up in his bed, trying to hold back a yawn. “Yeah. Who-- who’s this?”  
  
“My name’s Dean,” Dean told him, glancing over at John. “I work at the record store. You bought those Elvis Costello records the other day.”  
  
“Oh, yeah…hi,” Christopher said softly, a little confused. “How’d you get this number?”  
  
“Bob, my boss,” Dean answered quickly. “Listen, Christopher, do you know a Harvey Kelley?”  
  
“Uh, yeah, he’s a friend of the family,” Christopher told Dean, fumbling for his glasses. “What is this about?”  
  
“Do you have any salt at your house?” Dean asked quickly.  
  
“Yeah, probably,” Christopher said, getting irritated. “Listen, if you don’t tell me what you want--”  
  
“He’s coming to kill you!” Dean blurted out. “Now, listen to me. You have to get the salt, and you have to put salt lines in front of all the doors and windows. _All_ of them. Don’t let anybody in, except for me, when I get there. What’s your address?”  
  
“71 South El Monte,” he said automatically. “Wait, He’s going to-- wait, salt?” Christopher asked, confused. “I don’t get it.”  
  
“I’ll explain it when I get there,” Dean told him. “Just do it, please. Your life is at risk here. Salt.”  
  
“Salt,” Christopher repeated, nodding his head. “Yeah, okay. I’m going to go now…I’ll go get that salt.” He hung up, then rubbed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Salt?”  
  
“Well?” John asked eagerly, glancing at Dean. “What’d he say?”  
  
“I don’t think he believed me,” Dean answered truthfully, looking at John. “Step on it, Dad.”  
  
Christopher yawned as he made his way slowly into the kitchen, not quite sure what to think of what Dean had told him. He opened up a cupboard and grabbed his jar of instant coffee, ignoring the box of salt on the shelf above it. He yawned again, as he spooned some of the coffee into his mug, and then leaned against the counter. “Crazy,” he muttered, before his phone rang again. He sighed and debated answering it until the fourth ring, and he finally reached over and grabbed the cordless. “Hello?”  
  
“Christopher,” the voice said, flat, with no emotion.  
  
“Uh, yeah,” Christopher said, not quite sure who the person on the line with him was. “Dean?”  
  
“Harvey Kelley,” the voice replied, still emotionless.  
  
Christopher nearly dropped the phone. He hadn’t heard from or about Harvey Kelley for more than a year, and then the same day someone says Harvey is coming to kill him, he gets a call from him. “O-- oh. Hi. Harvey, it-- it’s been years. What-- what’s up?” He paced around the small space for a few seconds before he remembered the salt. He grabbed the box out of the cupboard and tried to remember what Dean had told him. “Harvey?”  
  
Deep breathing was his only response, before the click, signalling that Harvey had hung up.  
  
“Shit,” Christopher muttered, running to his door. He slid the chain in place then opened the salt, drawing a line on the floor. He thought for a moment then spilt a line of salt along the window sill of the sink above the window. He ran into the living room, salting the door and the large window. Next, his bedroom; he checked out his window quickly, a view of the driveway, but so far, it was still empty. He ran into the bathroom, and then into the guest bedroom, salting every window and door upstairs. He checked the driveway again, and then ran downstairs, to salt the basement door.   
  
He pressed his nose to the glass, checking what he could see of the backyard without opening the door. He pulled away then quickly drew a salt line. He sighed, then walked back upstairs slowly, a bit more calm than before. As he walked up the stairs, he glanced to a window, and was met with the sight of Harvey Kelley looking in. “Shit!” he yelled, dropping out of sight on the stairs. He clasped his hand over his mouth, trying to calm his breathing back down. Maybe Harvey hadn’t seen him. “I doubt it,” Christopher muttered, staying low on the stairs. His hand gripped the salt box tightly, before remembering Dean. But the phone was up the stairs, by the kitchen window; a window that Harvey could be looking in, right now. “Shit,” Christopher said softly, the third time since Dean had awoken him. He took a deep breath and then slowly began crawling up the stairs, just wanting to get the phone.  
  
Then, the doorbell rang.  
  
Christopher jumped, and froze in his spot, not sure whether he should get it or not. He had to get to a phone. The doorbell rang again, and was accompanied by a loud knock. He thought for a moment, before deciding to abandon the phone in the kitchen and get to his bedroom. He hoped that whatever the salt was supposed to do, it did it. He ignored the second doorbell ring, and then scurried quickly from the stairs to his bedroom, closing the door as soon as he got into the room.  
  
He stayed low on the floor until he got to the windows. He then stood up quickly, and shut the blinds. Sighing in relief, he sat down on the bed and grabbed his phone. Pressing the caller ID button, he went back to the second number, Dean’s number. He pressed ‘talk’, and the number began to dial. It rang twice before Dean answered it. “Dean, is that you at my door?”  
  
“Christopher?” Dean asked, glancing at his father. “No, no, we’re not there yet. Close, couple more minutes. Someone’s at your door?”  
  
Christopher nodded, before remembering Dean couldn’t see him. “Yeah. An-- and right after you called, Harvey called. He’s here.”  
  
“Okay, okay. Did you…did you do the salt, like I told you?” Dean asked, signalling to John that they had to go even faster.   
  
“Yeah,” Christopher replied, pacing around his room. “What’s going on? How are you going to stop him?”  
  
Dean smiled to himself, despite the seriousness of the situation. “You know, Christopher, I’m not so sure you’d believe me if I told you. Just-- don’t disturb the salt line, don’t let him in. He will kill you, if you do.”  
  
“Can-- can you stay on the line?” Christopher asked softly. “My life is at risk here, I’d rather not be alone.”  
  
“Sure,” Dean agreed.  
  
“How far away are you?” Christopher asked.  
  
Dean covered the mouthpiece of his phone and turned to John. “How far away are we?”  
  
John pointed at a sign on Dean’s side as they quickly passed.   
  
“We’re just in Pasadena now,” Dean told Christopher. “Just a couple more minutes, we’ll be there. 71 South El Monte, right Christopher?”   
  
“Ye-- yeah,” Christopher replied. “I don’t know if he’s here or not anymore. The doorbell and the knocking stopped, but I-- I don’t want to check.” He sat back down on his bed, neither of them speaking anymore, the moment stretched before them for what seemed like eternity, the silence deafening. “How much longer?”  
  
“We’re in Pasadena now,” Dean answered. “Now we just gotta get to your street. Dad, do you know where we’re going?”  
  
John nodded then turned onto another street. “It’s down here; we’re only a minute away. Tell him to hold on.”  
  
“We’re only a minute away, Christopher,” Dean assured him. “Just hold on. Okay, we’re driving a black truck. 71, Dad, that’s it!” Dean hit the dashboard, as if screaming at his father wasn’t enough.  
  
John turned quickly into Christopher’s driveway and turned off the engine. He reached over and opened the dash. “I’ll get the book, you go in and get Christopher.”  
  
Dean nodded, jumping out of the truck and running up to the door. Just as he was about to knock, he heard a voice behind him.   
  
“A _Winchester_ ,” the voice said, sounding very surprised and a bit smug.  
  
Dean turned slowly, and saw the face that had been gracing the news the night before. “Uh… Mr. Kelley. You’re a very popular guy these days.”   
  
“You and I both know I’m not Harvey Kelley,” the man said, a slight smile on his face. He stepped closer to Dean so he could see the black eyes.   
  
“Dad!” Dean yelled, alerting his father.   
  
John looked up from inside the truck, and his eyes went wide with realization. “Dean!” he yelled, before grabbing the book and hopping out of the truck. Before he could run though, the demon grabbed onto Dean’s neck, lifting him into the air.  
  
“You leave now, John,” the demon said, turning to John. “And maybe I won’t snap your son’s neck.” He turned back to Dean, and smiled. “Hurt yet, Dean?”  
  
Dean grunted, and clutched at the demon’s hands. “Dad,” he said softly, the breath being squeezed out of him.   
  
“I’ll trade Dean for Christopher,” the demon offered John, glancing back at him.   
  
“No!” Dean managed to get out, still struggling in the demon’s arms.  
  
“Let him down,” John pleaded, taking a step towards them. “I’ll get you what you want.”  
  
The demon nodded, then let go of Dean’s neck, dropping him down to the small porch. He looked up at John, before grabbing onto Dean’s shoulder. “Watch the news,” he said, before he closed his eyes, and the two of them vanished.  
  
“No!” John yelled, frozen in his spot for a moment before he ran to where they had been. “No!” he yelled again, dropping down to one knee. “Dean!”  
  
Then, the door opened, and Christopher peered out at him. “What happened?”  
  
John looked up at him, and cleared his throat. “Christopher?”  
  
Christopher nodded, before he opened the door all the way. “Where’s Dean?” he asked softly, looking around. “What did that guy do to him?”  
  
John sighed and stood up, before grabbing Christopher’s arm. “You’re coming with me.”   
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Where are we?” Christopher asked as he stepped out of the truck into the apartment parking lot.  
  
John didn’t answer, didn’t say anything; just led the way through the courtyard to the stairwell. He walked up the stairs quickly, Christopher following behind him, still tired and still in a bit of shock. He led Christopher down the hall to the apartment then opened the door, not even bothering to kick off his shoes. “Sam?” He walked out of the small entrance way into the open space of the living and dining rooms. Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the wall. “Sam, it’s Dean. The demon took him.”  
  
Sam just looked up at John, a blank look in his eyes. He nodded slowly then went back to the wall.  
  
“Sam?” John asked, realizing something was off with his son. He dropped to his knees by Sam’s chair, looking up at him. “What happened, Sammy? What’s wrong?”  
  
Sam glanced up at Christopher then leaned down a bit to get closer to John. “The baby.”  
  
“What happened?” John asked again, eyes shifting from Sam’s to Sam’s stomach. “Sam?”  
  
“Tired,” Sam mumbled, his arm dropping off the table down by his side. “Was fine…sick now.”  
  
John stood up quickly then hooked his hands under Sam’s arms, lifting him up from the chair. “Okay, I’ll take you to bed.” He wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist, holding him close. “Christopher…just stay there.”  
  
Christopher nodded, and shifted on his feet, watching John lead Sam down the hallway.  
  
John pushed open the bedroom door and led Sam over to the mattress. “When did it happen? How long ago?”  
  
Sam groaned, then sat down on the mattress, John still holding onto him. He curled into John’s side, grasping at his shirt. “Whe-- when I got up. After you left.” Then there was a sharp intake of breath. “You left,” Sam said accusingly, lifting his head. “You left. You left me. Alone.”  
  
John nodded slowly and wrapped his other arm around Sam, pulling his head back to his chest. “I know,” John said softly, rocking Sam back and forth slightly. “We shouldn’t have. Sammy, I’m so sorry. We should’ve been here, to take care of you. I’m here now though, I’m here now.”  
  
“B-- but Dean--” Sam began, looking up at John. “The demon--”  
  
“Shh,” John said softly, running his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Nothing we can do yet. Kelley said to watch the news. We have to wait. I have to take care of you, now.”  
  
“What does the demon want?” Sam asked, sounding a little breathless.   
  
“Christopher,” John answered, looking back at the door. “But Sammy, I have to take care of you now; you and the baby.” He let go of Sam and guided him back down onto the bed “sleep, okay?”   
  
“My baby,” Sam said weakly, rubbing his stomach. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“I don’t know what’s wrong,” John admitted, brushing Sam’s hair from his forehead. He felt the hot skin underneath his palm; Sam had a fever. “I don’t know what to do, so you’ll sleep for now.”  
  
Sam nodded and turned over on his side, pulling the sheets over him. “Don’t leave again.”  
  
“I won’t,” John assured him, before standing up. “I’m just going to be in the living room, with Christopher. If you need anything, just yell, okay? I’m going to get Dean back, and then you’ll be okay.”  
  
Sam nodded again then snuggled deeper into his sheets, wrapping his arms around Dean’s pillow. “I thought everything would be better…once the demon was gone. It’s been almost two months, why am I getting sick again?”  
  
John turned around at the door, before shaking his head slowly. “I-- I don’t know, Sammy. Maybe it’s just the flu. For once, maybe it’s just the flu.” He turned and left the room, closing the door only half-way behind him. He walked down the hall back out to Christopher.   
  
“What-- what’s wrong with him?” Christopher asked, gesturing to the hallway.  
  
“Nothing,” John snapped. He walked into the living room, turning the television on, quickly finding a news station. He tossed the remote onto the couch, and walked back over to Christopher, sitting down at the dining table. “Now, why does Harvey Kelley want to kill you?”  
  
Christopher shifted awkwardly then walked slowly over to the table, sitting down across from John. “I-- I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in at least two years. Haven’t heard about him in probably a few months, he’s a friend of the family, but I’m the youngest kid. We never spent that much time together.”   
  
“You’re lying,” John said flatly, glaring at Christopher, “because people don’t just suddenly decide to kill people they haven’t talked to in two years.”  
  
“You said ‘demon’,” Christopher said suddenly, changing the subject. “When you came in, you said that the demon took Dean. What do you mean?”  
  
“Harvey Kelley is possessed,” John answered, working his wedding ring nervously. “He invoked a demon to help him kill people. He wants _you_ , Christopher, said it himself. So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t trade your life for Dean’s. Tell me the truth.”   
  
“I don’t know!” Christopher exclaimed. “I swear! I don’t. And I’m sorry that he took your son, but I don’t know why he wants me.” He huffed then looked at John timidly. “You’re not really going to trade my life, are you?”  
  
John shook his head. “No. No, we’re not in the business of killing people. I’m going to _try_ an exorcism, but that will take some work. This guy is obviously upper-level. And now, I have to worry about Sam, in there, probably dying or something.”  
  
“What’s wrong with him?” Christopher asked again, this time softly.  
  
“He’s got a…condition,” John answered, not trusting Christopher enough to tell him the truth. “He had a run-in with a demon a couple months ago. He’s going to be fine.”  
  
“Do you want me to stay here with him, while you get Dean?” Christopher offered. “I mean-- I know I don’t know any of you very well, but he seems to be in pretty bad shape.”  
  
John shook his head. “You’re going to have to come with me,” he told him. “So will Sam. I can’t leave him alone, not now.”   
  
They sat in awkward silence for minutes on end, just waiting for some news report, something that involved Harvey; anything to give them a clue where to go. Finally, almost thirty minutes later, one did.   
  
“The vanishing killer has been found,” the reporter said to the camera.  
  
“What?” John asked, turning to face the television screen.  
  
A shot of an intersection in downtown Los Angeles, Harvey Kelley with a gun, pointed at Dean’s temple.  
  
“Police were called to the scene when witnesses reported seeing Harvey Kelley, and now, as you can see, he has taken a hostage, perhaps as a bargaining chip,” the reporter continued. “The hostage, who has yet to be identified, appears to be unarmed, but is in danger.”  
  
“Fuck,” John muttered, glancing at Christopher. “We have to go, now.”   
  
Christopher looked at him in surprise. “You’re serious? But-- he wants to kill me. You want me to be there?”  
  
“That is my son!” John yelled, pointing at the television. “And I’m not letting him die for you. You go get in the truck,” John commanded. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.” He got up from the table and walked back down the hall to Sam. “Hey Sammy,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He rubbed Sam’s back softly, trying to get him to wake up. “Sammy, it’s time to go.”  
  
Sam’s eyes flickered open, and he rolled to look at John. “What?” he asked softly, voice scratchy.  
  
“Time to go save Dean,” John told him, pulling the sheets down off Sam. “You have to come with me, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded then sat up slowly, trying to clear his head. He stood up equally as slow, and let John lead him out of the room to the door. He turned to the television, hearing Harvey’s name on the news.  
  
“Put the gun down,” the police officer said to Harvey on the screen, but Harvey just shook his head. “Put the gun down, and no one gets hurt.”  
  
Harvey tightened his grip on Dean, and even on the small screen, Sam could see Harvey turn the safety off. “There are people, who know what they must do. Only then does he go free.”  
  
Sam turned to John, eyes wide, tears shining. “Dean-- what? Dad, how are we going to save him? We can’t do an exorcism in the middle of downtown L.A.”  
  
“Come on, Sammy,” John said softly, turning off the television. “We gotta get to L.A, and we don’t have very long. You okay?”  
  
Sam wiped at his eyes, and walked over to the front door. “We have to save Dean.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 19/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** Harvey contacts Sam and John, and decides to make them a deal  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

Sam slipped his sneakers on then wrapped his arms around himself, shivering, as John opened the door for them both. They made it downstairs, and out by the pool before Sam told him, “I’m cold.”  
  
John grabbed Sam’s arm, stopping him, then felt his forehead. “You have a fever,” John told him, continuing walking. “I really think you just have the flu. After we get Dean back, you’ll just take it easy for a few days. Here, take my jacket.” He shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and handed it to Sam. “Chris is already in the truck, and Dean’s just-- just a little while away.”  
  
“How are we getting him back?” Sam asked, trudging alongside his father, “exorcism?”   
  
John nodded and opened the driver’s side door to the truck, climbing in. “Christopher, this is Sam. Sam, Christopher.”  
  
Sam nodded hello, as he climbed in the truck alongside the other two. “You’re the one he wants?”  
  
Christopher shrugged. “Ye-- yeah, I guess so. And don’t ask me why, I don’t know.”  
  
Sam leaned forward in his seat, glancing at his father, a look of disbelief on his face, “Yeah, right. Well, we’ll deal with that later. For now-- hey, Dad, is he staying in the truck?”  
  
“I’m sitting right here,” Christopher muttered, glancing at Sam.  
  
John turned onto another street, glancing over at his son. “Harvey will want to see him. So how do you want to do this Sam?”  
  
“If we just let him see Christopher, maybe he’ll let him go,” Sam said. “But-- but you said he’s like, the god of bloodshed. How do we stop him from doing that?”  
  
“We exorcise him before he has the chance,” John told him. “Turn on the radio; I want to hear if anything changes. If he starts the bloodshed, I’m not letting you go Sammy. I’m not risking both of my sons today.”  
  
Sam sighed, and thought for a minute. “He doesn’t know I’m coming,” Sam reminded him, before sniffing his nose. “You show him Christopher, and-- and maybe I can read the exorcism.”  
  
“Sam--” John began, before cutting himself off. “You stay out of the way, if anything happens. Getting Dean back is our first priority.”  
  
“What about me?” Christopher exclaimed.  
  
Sam turned to Christopher. “I am not letting Dean die for you. But hopefully, you won’t have to die. But if it comes down to it, there’s no choice. Now, do you want us to take you there, or do you want him to hunt you for the rest of your life?”  
  
Christopher slouched down in his seat. “I want to help get Dean back.”  
  
“Then shut up,” Sam snapped.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
There were people everywhere. News trucks, police officers, regular citizens. They had to stop the truck a couple blocks away, and walk the rest of the way.  
  
“Perfect,” John muttered, staying close to Sam, and trying to keep Christopher in sight. “All these people around, Harvey has _got_ to have something else in mind. He wouldn’t be doing this in public if he didn’t have a plan.”  
  
“What kind of plan could he have?” Sam asked softly, pushing through the crowd. “Would he really kill all these people?”  
  
John nodded slowly, pushing by the people. “Sam, this guy has quite the history. He’s killed a lot more for a lot less. Even if we give him Christopher, even if we get Dean back, it doesn’t mean we’re safe. We have to exorcise him … somehow, without him noticing. But we’ve got to get him away from all these people. The second he feels the pain, he’ll do what he has to.”   
  
“All these people could die for me?” Christopher asked, staying as close to the two Winchesters as he could. “Why? Why won’t he tell us why he wants me? Why would he want to kill me?”  
  
“We don’t know,” John answered, finally coming to a break in the crowd. They ended up right in front, police officers trying to contain the group of people. “How are we going to get him to see us?”  
  
As if on cue, Harvey Kelley smiled, and turned in their direction. “See them, Dean?” he asked softly. “See them? Remember what they look like, ‘cause it’ll be the last time you ever see them.”  
  
“No!” Dean cried, and he began to struggle in the grip. “No, no, no, please. They brought Christopher, let me go.”  
  
“I am letting you go, Dean,” Harvey whispered, and Dean could feel his grip loosening. “It’s them I’m going to kill.”  
  
“No!” Dean yelled, as Harvey threw him to the ground, and a sharp pain flew up his arm.   
  
“Dean!” Sam yelled, stepping forward, but he felt John’s hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “Dad, he’s free, we can get him. Give him Christopher.”  
  
“No,” John said softly. “I don’t want anyone to die here.”  
  
Sam bit his lip, and glanced back and Harvey and Dean, who was still lying on the ground. “Come on, Dean, get up,” he pleaded softly. “We’re here, just get up. Please, just get up.”  
  
“Mm,” Harvey murmured thoughtfully, watching Sam, John and Christopher. “Look at that Dean; they’re not even trying to save you.”  
  
Dean rolled onto his back, looking up at Harvey. “They’ll sacrifice me, to save all these people. You’re playing a game you can’t win.”  
  
Harvey smirked then knelt on the ground, looking as if he were going to surrender. “Watch me.” He grabbed onto Dean’s ankle and both of them quickly vanished.  
  
“No!” Sam screamed, “Dad, what-- where did they go? Dad, what happened? He took Dean! He wasn’t supposed to take Dean!”  
  
John just stared at the spot where they once were, eyes wide with shock and fear. “He wasn’t supposed to. Fuck, Sammy. I don’t know what to do now.” Just then, his cell phone rang. He dug into his pocket and pulled it out, turning it on. “Hello?” he asked softly, trying not to alert the police officers who had already been eyeing them after Sam’s outburst.   
  
“Who is it?” Sam asked, bouncing up and down on his feet impatiently.   
  
John looked up at Sam, then over at Christopher. “Okay. We’ll be there.” He turned the phone off, and dropped it back in his pocket. “Harvey. He-- he wants to trade. He told me where he was. He said to bring Christopher…and Dean can go.”   
  
“What?” Christopher asked.  
  
“If not, Dean dies,” John continued sombrely. “And so does everyone in this intersection.”  
  
Sam’s eyes opened wide, and he looked around the crowd. There were at least a hundred people, every age. One woman even had her toddler in her arms. “He can’t do that.”  
  
“I am not dying!” Christopher screeched, and he turned quickly, pushing his way through the crowd.   
  
John went quickly after him, keeping his eyes on the head of blonde hair. He managed to grab onto Christopher’s arm, pulling him to a stop. “Don’t do that again,” John warned; voice low. “Or I kill you myself.”   
  
Christopher gulped, and looked over as Sam made his way through the crowd towards. “I don’t want to die,” he said softly, tears beginning to brim behind his glasses.   
  
John glanced back at Sam, then back at Christopher. “I know. But come on, Harvey gave me a time limit to get you there.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“There it is,” John said, pointing down a street to an old warehouse. John slowed down then turned onto the street, pulling into the old, rundown building’s parking space. He pulled to a stop, turning the key. He grabbed the book off his lap and handed it to Sam, before pocketing the keys and climbing out of the truck. Sam zipped John’s jacket up, still cold despite sweating, and opened the door, climbing out slowly, holding onto the door until Christopher jumped out behind him and it had to be closed. “Stay close, Christopher,” John commanded, slowly down to let Sam catch up to them. “Ideally, no one dies today.”  
  
Christopher nodded once “Sounds good to me.” He and Sam followed John into the dark, dank warehouse.   
  
“He said they’re in the basement,” John said softly. He walked carefully, trying not to make too much noise. If Harvey didn’t already know they were there, he didn’t want to alert him to it. “Both of you, stay close, and Sam please, _please_ , don’t throw up, or pass out. You have to stay out of everyone’s way, you promise?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam agreed softly. Walking down the stairs, he gripped the railing tight in his hands, trying to steady himself, but he could feel splinters breaking off into his hand. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, John looked around, before turning to Sam.  
  
“Listen Sammy,” John said, grabbing onto Sam’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes, “things go bad-- really bad, you leave. Get you and the baby out of here, okay?”  
  
Sam glanced at Christopher, who seemed too nervous to be paying attention to anything they were saying. “I know.”  
  
John nodded then continued on. “If this doesn’t work, you know me. I’ll give myself to him, to save you and Dean.”  
  
Sam’s eyes opened wide, but he nodded anyway. “Dad, just give him Christopher.”  
  
“No,” John said sharply. “No. Now come on, let’s go find them.” He stepped away from Sam, and placed his hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “Come on,” John said softly, trying to keep Christopher calm. “Everyone’s going to be fine.”  
  
Christopher nodded, a hopeful look in his eyes, trying to stay as close to John as he could. “You really think so?”  
  
John glanced back at Christopher, and sighed. “I don’t know, Christopher. But I can hope so.” They continued through the basement, walking slowly. Finally, they walked into a large space in the basement, by another staircase. A window high above them all was shining sunlight in, and right in the middle of the large space of light, was Dean, tied to a chair. “Dean!” John cried, before running over to his son. He knelt in front of Dean, and slapped his cheek lightly. “Dean, Dean, can you hear me?”  
  
“He’s just resting his eyes,” Harvey said, stepping out of the shadows. “He’s fine. I told you, him for Christopher. Why would I want to hurt my bait?”  
  
“Dean,” John said again, his fingers gripping into Dean’s knee.  
  
Dean groaned, and his head lolled to one side, before his eyelids flickered open. “D-- Dad?” He sat up straighter and looked around. It was hard to smile in relief when he saw Sam. “Sammy.”  
  
Sam smiled softly. “Hi.”  
  
“Well, now that the pleasantries are done, let’s get my trade over with,” Harvey said, a smile on his face.   
  
Christopher swallowed hard. “What are you going to do to me?” he blurted out, taking a step forward.   
  
All the other men looked over at him in surprise.  
  
Harvey smiled, and took a step towards Christopher, smiling even more when Christopher took a step back. “Well, if you must know…I’m going to kill you.”  
  
Christopher shifted awkwardly on his feet, before clearing his throat. “But-- but why? We haven’t talked in more than two years; I never did anything to you.”  
  
John cleared his throat, and began to speak. “I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every Satanic power of the enemy.”  
  
Harvey rolled his eyes. “Really John? Really? An exorcism. Why would you want to piss me off right now?”  
  
John took a deep breath, and continued on. “Every spectre from hell, and all your fell companions; in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.”  
  
Harvey smirked, and shook his head slightly. “I can kill you, your sons, and your unborn grandchild, and you’re trying an exorcism?”  
  
“Why?” Christopher repeated, getting the attention back to him.   
  
John continued on with the exorcism, despite Harvey’s warning. “Be gone and stay far from this creature of God.”  
  
Harvey was hit with a sharp pain in his gut, but not wanting to show weakness, he shrugged. ““Kristen Nigel. That’s all he told me. Now, hurry up.”  
  
“Kristen Nigel?” Christopher screeched. “Harvey’s--” realization hit and he stopped talking. “Oh.”  
  
“For it is He who commands you, He who flung you headlong from the heights of heaven into the depths of hell. It is He who commands you, He who once stilled the sea and the wind and the storm,” John said, shifting on his feet to get closer to Dean.   
  
Harvey opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again. He turned away from Christopher to examine Dean and John. “Now, why the _hell_ are you doing that? John, I told you. I can kill everyone in this room, I can kill everyone in this city. Why would you do this?”  
  
John froze on the spot, staring at Harvey.  
  
Sam stepped forward, and cleared his throat, trying not to let his voice crack with fear. “Hearken, therefore, and tremble in fear, Satan, you enemy of the faith, you foe of the human race.”  
  
Harvey turned to Sam, a surprised smile on his face. “Now Sam, I can’t believe you’re going to do it. You, with the baby inside you. You’re not scared of what I’ll do?”  
  
Sam stopped speaking for a moment, and shook his head. “I’m not going to let Dean die.”  
  
“Fuck!” Harvey screamed, walking over to Sam, grabbing onto Sam’s jacket, pulling him close. “Don’t you get it? I will kill him! I can do it right now, before you even get the next word out. I can kill your baby!”  
  
Sam gulped, and looked past Harvey to see John untying Dean’s ropes. “I-- I don’t--”  
  
“Finish it Sam!” Dean yelled, standing up, shaking the ropes off him. “Come on!”  
  
Sam sighed, and looked down at the ground, too scared to look at Harvey. “You begetter of death, you robber of life, you corrupter of justice, you root of all evil and vice; seducer of men,” he continued softly.   
  
Harvey groaned, and let go of Sam, doubling over in pain. Getting back to himself, he looked up at Dean. “You’re that baby’s father. I know you don’t want to see it die. Now, just give me Christopher, and I’ll let you leave. Baby and all. You tell Sam to stop and he will. You do that, I’ll consider letting you go. After all, I think I can get a lot more for a baby than I can you.”  
  
Sam gulped, and glanced over at Dean and John. “Betrayer of the nations, instigator of envy, font of avarice, fomenter of discord, author of pain and sorrow,” Sam said; voice shaky.   
  
Harvey groaned again, a groan that turned into a loud scream. “Stop _fucking_ doing that!” He shook Christopher in his hands.   
  
“Finish it, Sam!” Dean yelled.  
  
“Don’t, Sam!” Harvey yelled. “Or I kill everyone. I kill Christopher, then your father. Then Dean. And then, when you’re crying, and _weak_ and scared, I rip your baby out! I know you don’t want that, Sam.”  
  
“He’s not going to listen to you,” Dean said smugly, glaring at Harvey. “He’s smarter than that. Sam knows what’s right.”  
  
“Is he?” Harvey asked, raising an eyebrow. “I know everything that you’re thinking; I know what Sam’s thinking. I know exactly how smart he is.” He tapped his temple. “It’s all in here. I know what scares him the most.”  
  
“Finish it!” Dean yelled. “Sam!”  
  
“ _Everyone_ , Sam,” Harvey reminded him. “Everyone in this room will die, if you finish it.”  
  
“Sam!” John yelled. “I am giving you an order; finish it!”  
  
“Sam, don’t listen to them,” Harvey said. “Just let me kill Christopher. That’s all I want. Give me Christopher, and I’ll let you three leave. Christopher is the last one. After he’s gone, I’ll go back to hell. Just let me kill him, and I won’t hurt you.”  
  
Sam gulped, and stepped forward. “P-- promise?”  
  
Everyone in the basement turned to look at Sam; Harvey, a smile on his face, Dean and John with looks of shock and Christopher, eyes wide with horror.  
  
“Of course, Sam,” Harvey assured him. “You let me kill him, and I have no reason to kill you. Or anyone else here.”  
  
Sam glanced down at the book in hand, then over at Christopher, before nodding slowly. “Do it.”  
  
“No!” Christopher screamed, as Dean yelled, “What?” and John yelled, “Sam!”  
  
Harvey grinned, and took a step towards Christopher. “Great. Now that we’ve got that settled…Christopher, would you mind joining me?”  
  
“No!” Christopher screamed again, stepping back away from Harvey. “Get the fuck away from me.”  
  
“It’s really not that bad,” Harvey told him, before opening his jacket and pulling out a gun, presumably the same gun that had been used in the two previous murders. “A shot to the head and everything’s done. I really want to get home, so can we just get this over with?”  
  
“Sam, read it!” Dean yelled, going over to Sam. “Read it, Sam. _Now_.”  
  
Sam shook his head then looked down at Dean. “I can’t-- I can’t let you die.”  
  
“He’s bluffing, Sam!” Dean said, before reaching to grab the book out of his hand. “Finish it. He’ll kill us!”  
  
Sam’s eyes opened wide, and he glanced over at Christopher and Harvey. “But--”  
  
Dean shook his head. “ _Read_ it, Sam. Now.”  
  
Harvey silently counted to three before raising the gun. “Too late.”  
  
“No!” Christopher pleaded, turning to Sam, tears spilling over. “Please.”  
  
Sam’s eyes darted from Christopher and Harvey to Dean. “Why, then, do you stand and re--”  
  
The gun went off, the loud sound echoing throughout the room. Blood immediately began to run from the hole in Christopher’s forehead as he fell down to his knees, then fell to the floor.  
  
Harvey turned to Sam and Dean, a smile on his face. “Well, Sam, nice doing business with you.” He stuck the gun into the waistband of his pants, before kneeling to the floor. “I suggest you leave now.”  
  
John stepped forward, glancing over at Sam. “I’ll finish it,” he gritted through his teeth. He began to speak, finishing the exorcism.  
  
“Sam,” Dean said softly in disbelief. “I can’t believe--” He was interrupted by the sound of Harvey screaming, a black cloud pillowing from his mouth. Harvey’s body slumped over onto Christopher’s, weak from the demon.  
  
John sighed, then walked to Harvey, and lifted his jacket. Grabbing the gun, he pressed it to the side of Harvey’s head, and squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled the trigger.  
  
Dean gasped, and Sam looked away, more tears stinging his eyes.  
  
John took the gun and after wiping his prints off, placed it back in Harvey’s hand, making it look like he made the second shot also. He stood up, and walked over to his sons slowly. “Come-- come on, you two, we have to get out of here.” He grabbed onto Dean’s jacket, trying to lead the way out of the warehouse, but Dean wouldn’t budge, still staring at the floor.  
  
“Sammy,” he said softly, looking up at his brother.   
  
Sam kept his eyes on the floor, eyes wide, tears filling them up. “I--”  
  
“We need to leave,” John said again, pulling on both Sam and Dean’s arms this time. “ _Now_. We can talk about this later, when we’re back at home.”  
  
Dean cleared his throat then nodded. “He’s right, Sam,” he said, linking his fingers with Sam’s. “Come on.”  
  
Sam shook his head, before wiping at his eyes. “I killed--” his voice cracked, and he stopped talking. He dropped down to his knees, bottom lip quivering as he tried to keep his tears in. “Dean,” he said softly, looking up at him.  
  
“I know,” Dean said, before dropping down beside Sam. He wrapped his arms around Sam, pulling him in for a hug. “It’s okay.”  
  
Sam shook his head, and grasped at Dean, not wanting to let him go. “It’s my fault.” His tears spilled over and he began to cry, body shaking with his sobs. Dean pressed a wet kiss to Sam’s forehead, holding Sam as close as he could. “Dean,” he said, voice breaking again.  
  
Dean felt the heat from Sam’s skin underneath his, and he glanced up at John in wonder, before looking back at Sam, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “It’s okay. He-- he’s in a better place now.”  
  
Sam just cried even harder.


	20. Chapter 20

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 20/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** After they go home, Sam begins to doubt his ability to be a father, and a good person.   
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

Sam was lying on the mattress, curled up on his side, pillow wrapped up in his arms. He was still crying, tears soaking the pillow. Dean was curled up behind him, just there to comfort him. John was sitting in the living room, head in his hands, full of shock and disbelief.   
  
“I should’ve finished it,” Sam sobbed into his pillow, body shaking from the cries and his chills. He sniffed his nose, and wiped at his eyes, but the tears didn’t stop. “I killed him.”  
  
“Harvey Kelley killed him,” Dean said softly, pressing his lips to the nape of Sam’s neck. “Sam, you did what you thought was--”  
  
“You know that’s a lie,” Sam said, lifting his head from the pillow. His face was flushed, the fever getting to him. “I know you blame me. It’s my fault. I never should’ve--” he began rocking back forth, eyes squeezed shut. “I should’ve listened to you.”  
  
“You tried,” Dean reminded him. “Sam, you wanted to save your family.” He held Sam closer, feeling him tremble beneath his arms. “You tried. Christopher knows that. We all do.”  
  
They lay together like that for the rest of the day, and into the night. They couldn’t even be bothered to move to use the bathroom, they just shifted uncomfortably. By Dean’s watch, it was around nine when John knocked at their door, saying goodnight, drained from the day. Sam slipped in and out of sleep, the events of the day and the fever getting to him.   
  
“I’m three months along,” Sam said softly, the first words spoken between them in hours. “Three months, two days.”  
  
Dean lifted his head, hair pushed over to one side from the pillow. “Yeah? Already? Wow, it doesn’t seem like it’s been that long.”  
  
Sam nodded then sniffed his nose. “Six months, we’re going to be daddies.”  
  
Dean nodded then let his hand drift to rub Sam’s stomach. “Yeah. We’re going to be great daddies.”  
  
Sam swallowed hard then shook his head. “You, maybe.”  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, looking down at Sam. “Sam, you’re going to be a great father. A _great_ dad. Don’t ever doubt that.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, then wiped at them, sitting up. “After today, how can you say that? I let a man die-- an innocent man _die_. He’s never going to get to be a dad.” He wiped at his eyes again then sighed, the tears momentarily stopped. “How can you be here with me?”  
  
Dean sat up behind Sam, and wrapped his arms around Sam’s shoulders, holding him close. “Because I love you,” he said softly, mouth to Sam’s ear. “I’m not leaving you.”  
  
Sam snorted then shifted under Dean’s hold. “You left me yesterday,” he pointed out, and he began to cry again, his head dropped forward.  
  
Dean pressed a soft kiss to Sam’s neck, and nodded slowly, squeezing back his own tears. “I know,” he said softly, voice breaking. “I know. I just-- I’m sorry, Sammy. I never should have, and I shouldn’t’ve got Dad to come too. I’m sorry, Sammy.” He pressed another kiss to Sam’s neck, letting his lips linger. He rested his head against Sam’s shoulder, his own tears soaking through Sam’s thin shirt. “I love you so much, Sammy.” One arm slid off Sam’s shoulder and wrapped around his waist, his hand sliding under Sam’s shirt to lie flat against his stomach. “Our baby … you did what you had to, Sam. You’re not the one to blame here. You’re not.”  
  
Sam wiped at his nose then cleared his throat, and stood up, shaking Dean off him. “I need to use the bathroom.” He closed the door behind him, but Dean didn’t hear the click of a lock. Dean sighed, then wiped at his eyes quickly, before standing up and following Sam in, pushing the bathroom door open.   
  
Sam jumped at the toilet, and glanced back quickly, before he finished relieving himself. He zipped himself up, then stepped to the sink to wash his hands. “Dean, the point of this was to get away from you.”  
  
Dean nodded then closed the door behind him, leaning against it. “I figured, but I don’t think being alone is what you need right now, Sammy.”  
  
“It’s _Sam_ ,” he gritted out. “For once, it’s Sam, okay?” He dropped the hand towel by the sink then turned to face Dean. “Please, just-- just leave me alone, okay? Please. I can’t-- I can’t do this right now.” He made a move for the door, but Dean wouldn’t budge. “Dean, _please_. I’m pregnant, I’m sick and I just killed a man.”  
  
Dean nodded, before stepping out of Sam’s way. “You’re right. You-- you should be alone.”  
  
“Thank you,” Sam muttered, pushing past Dean, going back into their dark bedroom.   
  
“Tell you what,” Dean said, his voice slightly quivering with the force of trying to hold back his tears. “I-- I’m gonna go, let you sleep. You need to sleep. I’ll be on the couch, okay?” Not waiting for Sam’s answer, he nodded again before walking quickly out of the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.  
  
Sam sighed and sat down on the mattress, arms wrapped around his knees. “Where the fuck did it all go wrong?” he muttered, before lying down, flipping his pillow over to avoid the wet spot. He took a deep breath then closed his eyes, letting exhaustion take over.  
  
Dean shifted every few seconds on the couch, seemingly unable to get comfortable. He groaned, before pushing himself into a sitting position. “ _Fuck_ ,” he muttered, taking a deep breath. He stuck his hand between the cushions, and found what he was looking for: the remote. He turned on the television, turning the volume down low, and began going through the channels. Saturday night television always sucked. He eventually found some old black and white movie, something he thought maybe could have been ‘The Defiant Ones’, but he wasn’t completely sure. He settled into the couch, legs curled beneath him. He soon fell asleep to the sound of Tony Curtis and Sidney Poitier’s bickering.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
John and Sam didn’t come out for breakfast, and when they did leave their rooms, they all ate lunch in silence, and away from each other. Dean sat on the counter, legs swinging; Sam sat at the table, reading a book; John sat on the couch, watching some sports show. Every once in awhile John would glance up at his sons, just to see if they had moved closer, or had begun to talk to each other, but they were still ignoring each other. John sighed and turned the television off. He pushed himself off the couch and walked slowly over to the table. “Sam, can I talk to you?”  
  
Sam looked up at John over his book, and nodded, “Yeah, sure.” He glanced back at Dean, who was still eating his sandwich, but was watching Sam and John. “What’s up?”  
  
John sighed then pulled the chair away from the table, taking a seat. “Sammy--”  
  
“It’s Sam,” he corrected, but let his father continue.  
  
“Sam,” John began again, “I just wanted to tell you…I don’t blame you.”  
  
“Oh Christ,” Sam muttered, dropping his book. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Dean already had this talk with me. I know, okay? I did what I thought was best, it wasn’t my fault, I began the last line, blah blah. I know!”  
  
“Sam, don’t talk to him like that,” Dean snapped, jumping off the counter. He walked over to the table, sitting in the empty chair. “Sam, you blame yourself.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes then lolled his head over, looking at Dean. “Gee, thanks Dr. Phil. God, when did this turn into group therapy? I…am…fine,” he said slowly. “Get it?”  
  
“We don’t blame you,” John told him, and Sam rolled his eyes again.   
  
“Dad, don’t you get it?” Sam stood up quickly from the chair, shoving it back in to the table. “I don’t care! I don’t care whether you blame me or not, I really don’t. It doesn’t matter what _you_ think, it matters what _I_ think. Which, Dean, I do _not_ need you to tell me what I think. ‘You blame yourself’. Well, big fucking _duh_ , Dean! It’s my fault he’s dead! Fuck!” Resisting the urge to stomp his foot like a child; he instead turned and punched the wall.  
  
John looked up in shock and surprise and Dean jumped out of his chair, going to Sam quickly. “Sam!” Dean yelled, grabbing onto Sam’s wrist gently. “Dad, go get the bandages. Don’t pull your hand out yet, Sammy. Just wait, okay? It could be broken.”  
  
Sam just nodded slowly, eyes fixed on his hand in the wall. He looked slowly to Dean then back at his hand.  
  
“Does it hurt?” Dean asked softly, trying to figure out how far into the wall Sam’s hand was. “Can you turn your wrist?”  
  
Sam shrugged, then began turning his hand, proving that yes, he could. “Can I pull it out now?” he asked softly, looking to Dean, eyes wide. Dean hadn’t heard Sam sound that young since he actually _was_ that young.  
  
“Does it hurt?” Dean asked again, not sure he wanted Sam to pull it out unless he was sure it wasn’t broken.   
  
Sam shook his head, then began pulling his arm back, until his hand, bloodied knuckles and all, came free of the wall. “I need-- need a band-aid.”  
  
“Dad’s getting them,” Dean told him, guiding Sam away from the wall and to the sink, running Sam’s hand under the water. “Come on, it’ll be okay. Lemme see.”  
  
Sam lifted his hand for Dean to examine. “Is it broken?”  
  
“I don’t think so,” Dean said, looking up at Sam. “Can you move your fingers?” He watched as Sam’s fingers flexed, then nodded. “Okay, that’s good.” He lifted Sam’s hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to each of the bloodied knuckles.  
  
John came rushing into the kitchen small first-aid kit in his hands. “Here. He okay, they broken?”  
  
Dean shook his head then opened the first-aid kit with one hand, holding onto Sam’s with his other. “Just cut. A bandage and he’ll be fine.”  
  
John nodded then shifted on his feet, watching as Dean wrapped a white bandage around Sam’s knuckles a few times. “Sammy, what were you thinking?”  
  
“Dad, can-- can I talk to him alone, please?” Dean asked, glancing up at John.   
  
John sighed and nodded, knowing Dean would probably be better at it than he was. “I’ll go take my shower now, then.”   
  
Dean finished wrapping the bandage then set the roll of gauze back in the kit, “That feel okay?”  
  
Sam nodded and took his hand away from Dean, flexing his fingers, examining the bandage. He sighed, then dropped his hand down to his lap. “I’m a bad person, Dean, aren’t I?”  
  
“What?” Dean asked in surprise. “Sammy-- Sam,” he corrected, “no. What-- why would you say that; because you punched a hole in the wall? Sam, it’s not that big a deal, we’ll put a picture up or some--”  
  
“I shot you,” Sam interrupted softly, “In the asylum. I-- I-- I-- I let Jess die, I didn’t tell her the truth. I left you in Burkitsville.”  
  
“Sam,” Dean began, shaking his head.   
  
“I took you to see Roy LeGrange, and-- and that guy died for you,” Sam continued on, tears filling his eyes. “I left you and Dad, for Stanford. And now-- now I let Christopher die because _I_ didn’t want to!” He wiped his eyes and looked away from Dean, embarrassed to have cried this much in the past two days. He wasn’t used to crying, even with all the hormones. “Maybe you and Dad … maybe you should take the baby, when it’s born. Take the baby, and I’ll just-- I’ll just get out of your way.”  
  
“Sam, no!” Dean said strongly, grabbing Sam’s shoulders, making him face him. “We’re in this together. I’m not taking our baby away from you. Of course you’ve made mistakes, so have I. So has everyone. You can’t let it do this to you.”  
  
“You didn’t let Christopher die!” Sam snapped. “You tried to save him.”  
  
“Sam, remember how a couple days ago, when I said that my biggest regret was everything I said to you the night before you left?” Dean asked, moving his head to make sure Sam was still looking at him.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam said softly.  
  
“But no matter how much it hurt me, how much it killed me that I could say those things, I still forgave myself, because _you_ forgave me, because _you_ still loved me, and you would never leave me,” Dean explained. “This is your regret, Sam. But I still love you, and I’m not leaving you, and I’m certainly not taking our baby away from you! You have to forgive yourself. Please. I want to see you smile again.”  
  
Sam sighed, dropping his head forward. “You won’t leave me?”  
  
Dean shook his head and pulled Sam in for a hug. “Never. I love you, Sammy. Please, believe me.” He pressed a kiss to Sam’s head then began rocking him back and forth. “And you’re going to be a _great_ father. The things you’ve done for your family, Sam, what you’re willing to do to protect us, to protect our baby, that’s what a great father is. Okay?”  
  
Sam nodded then sniffed his nose, lifting his head. He sighed then pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s lips. One soft kiss turned into two, and then three, before Sam reburied his face in Dean’s shirt. “I love you.”  
  
“I love you too,” Dean said softly, playing with the soft ends of Sam’s hair.   
  
“You’re not mad at me?” Sam asked, lifting his head again.   
  
Dean shook his head. “No.” He pressed his lips to Sam’s this time, tightening his hold on Sam’s hair. “I’m not.”  
  
Sam nodded and sighed, allowing himself to be pulled back into a hug. He sighed again, pressing his face to Dean’s neck, inhaling the scent of his brother. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Dean shook his head, pressing a kiss to the side of Sam’s neck. “Stop apologizing. I can’t forgive you, there’s nothing to forgive. Please, believe me.”  
  
“Okay,” Sam nodded, pulling back from Dean. “Okay.” He yawned, shook his hair out of his eyes. “I’m tired.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean said, stepping back from Sam. “How ‘bout we just watch a movie or something.”  
  
Sam nodded, and let Dean link fingers with him, leading him into the living room, sitting him down on the couch.   
  
“Maybe Dad can watch it with us too?” Dean asked, glancing at Sam.   
  
“Yeah,” Sam nodded, lying down on the couch, his head on Dean’s lap. “I think he’ll have to, because I’m not moving from here for awhile.”  
  
Dean chuckled, and leaned his head back on the couch, smiling to himself. This was what it was supposed to be like with Sam. When he heard the water shut off and then the bathroom door open, he called out for his father. “Dad!”  
  
John appeared off to his side, a towel wrapped around his waist, an eyebrow raised. “You rang?”  
  
Sam lifted his head off Dean’s lap and gestured to the television. “Put a movie in for us, Dad? You can watch it too, if you want.”  
  
John rolled his eyes, then tightened the grip on his towel. “I’ll go dry off then I’ll put one in for you. I see you’re feeling better, Sammy.”  
  
Sam looked up at John again, then nodded. “Somehow…I always get better.”  
  
John smiled. “Good, I’m glad. That’s good to hear. Give me a sec’ to get changed, and you’ll have your movie.” He disappeared back down the hall and they heard his bedroom door close.  
  
“How long--” Sam began, clearing his throat before continuing on, “how long do you think he’ll stay, after the baby?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Dean admitted softly, twisting Sam’s hair around his finger. “Long enough to make sure we can take care of it, I’m sure.”  
  
Sam nodded, and began playing with the fraying denim of the hole in Dean’s jeans. “I want a boy.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean nodded understandingly, “Me too. A boy would be nice.”  
  
“Do you think-- do you think this would ever work again?” Sam asked, rolling over so that his head was resting on Dean’s thigh, but he was looking up at Dean. “Do you think we could have another baby?”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “You-- you want to go through all this again? Christ, you’re a better man than I am, Sammy.”  
  
“I’m not saying I _want_ another baby, I mean-- we haven’t even had the first one yet,” Sam pointed out. “I just…I don’t know. I don’t our kid to be lonely. You’d be pretty lonely if Mom and Dad decided to stop after one.”  
  
Dean smiled lightly. “Yeah, I would be. God Sammy, not having you, I can’t-- I can’t imagine it.”  
  
“What movie do you want?” John asked, walking back into the living room, towel still in his hand.   
  
Sam rolled back onto his side so he could see the television. “Whatever you two want; I’ll probably be asleep before long anyway.”  
  
John chuckled, walked to the television, grabbing a random DVD from the small pile. “What do you say to--” he flipped the case over, reading the name, “Eight Legged Freaks? Lemme guess, this is Dean’s.”  
  
“Yup,” Dean nodded; a huge grin on his face. “Well pop it in, Dad. Come on, don’t got all day.”  
  
Sam was right, he fell asleep within the first few minutes of the movie; he drifted in and out of it for the rest of the movie, picking up pieces of dialogue here and there.  
  
_“Don't make any movements or noises. There's a giant tarantula headed your way.”  
  
“Copy that.”_  
  
He sighed and rolled over, letting himself fall back asleep. He woke back up what must have been hours later; the sun had set and the moon was high. He groaned as his eyes flickered open. He rubbed his eyes then sat up. “Dean?” he asked, looking around. There, outside on the balcony, was Dean and John, beers in hand. Sam smiled to himself then made his way into the kitchen, his stomach grumbling. He sat down at the table, eating an orange, trying to keep himself from falling back asleep.  
  
“Well, Sleeping Beauty, looks like you woke up,” Dean joked, sliding the door open, “How you feeling?”  
  
“Better,” Sam said softly, eating a piece of orange, “Tired.”  
  
“I’ve never seen anyone sleep that much,” Dean remarked, going to the fridge, grabbing a couple more beers. “Is that orange enough for you?”  
  
Sam nodded, peeling more skin off the orange. “Sorry I slept through the movie.”  
  
Dean shrugged then pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head, before ruffling his hair. “It’s fine. You’ve had a long weekend, _and_ , you’re still sick.” He pushed Sam’s bangs out of his way, and laid his hand flat against Sam’s forehead. “Christ, Sammy. You need an aspirin or something.”  
  
“I don’t feel that warm,” Sam said softly, pressing his own hand to his forehead. “I’m cold.”  
  
Dean grabbed a bottle of aspirin out of the first-aid kit John still hadn’t put away. “C’mon, take a couple of these. Are you going to be alright home alone tomorrow? One of us can stay with you, if you want.” He handed Sam the aspirin and a small glass of juice.  
  
Sam shook his head and downed the aspirin quickly. “I’m twenty-three, I’m sure I can handle this myself.”  
  
“Well, sorry,” Dean muttered, taking the glass back from Sam, dropping it in the sink. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. But if you’re not, you know where to find me.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, trying not to laugh at Dean’s attempt to take care of him. “Yeah, I know. What are you going to tell Bob when he asks what happened to Christopher?”  
  
Dean glanced at Sam. “I…I don’t know. He was pretty out of it when I called, maybe he forgot. Now come on, get up, I’m taking you to bed.” He grabbed onto Sam’s arm, pulling him out of the chair. “You need to get better.”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to protest, but cut himself off before he even started. Dean wouldn’t listen to him anyway.  
  
“I’ll try not to wake you, okay?” Dean said, standing in the middle of the room, watching Sam get undressed. “Sleep without a shirt on. You’re too warm.”  
  
Sam looked over at Dean, eyebrow raised. “You’re serious? Dean, I’m freezing here!” He rolled his eyes then kicked off his jeans, leaving his shirt on. “I’m supposed to stay wrapped up.” He climbed under the covers and smiled up at Dean. “I’m sorry I’m such a downer.”  
  
Dean sat down on the edge of the mattress, brushing Sam’s hair off his face. “It’s okay, just get better. Drink lots of liquids.” He pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead then smiled down at him. “I love you, Sam Winchester.”  
  
Sam tried not to laugh. “Yeah, I know. ‘Night.”  
  
Dean opened his mouth in fake shock. “No ‘love you’ back?”  
  
Sam shook his head, pulling the sheets tighter around him. “Nope. Don’t forget to turn the lights off when you leave.”  
  
“Sammy,” Dean stuck out his bottom lip, and gave him his best puppy-dog eyes. “I love you,” he tried again.  
  
“I know,” Sam said softly. “I love you too, Dean.” He yawned, letting his eyes close. “Night.”  
  
“Night,” Dean said, kissing Sam’s forehead again. He stood up and walked over to the door, flicking off the lights. “Sweet dreams.”   
  
He heard Sam snort and then chuckle before he closed the door. He walked back out down the hallway, grabbing the beers from the kitchen then went back out on the balcony.  
  
“How is he?” John asked, taking his beer from Dean.  
  
“Good,” Dean answered, sitting down on the balcony beside his father, “Gave him aspirin, for the fever.”  
  
John nodded, taking a sip of his beer. “That’s good. He’ll be fine soon, he never stayed sick long as a kid.”   
  
Dean nodded, before taking a drink of his own beer. He sighed, and began fiddling with the label on the bottle. “This is weird for you, isn’t it?” he asked, looking up at his father.  
  
“What is?” John asked, glancing at Dean.  
  
“Me and Sam,” Dean answered. “The whole … _everything_. Us being, you know, together. We haven’t really talked about since Bobby’s.”  
  
John shrugged, keeping his eyes on the horizon. He took a sip of his beer then cleared his throat. “I don’t know,” he answered finally. “I try not to think of it too much.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked, taking a sip of his beer.  
  
“Yeah,” John said softly. “I don’t like it, Dean, I really don’t. Even knowing it’s not my fault…I still can’t--”  
  
“It’s okay, Dad,” Dean interrupted. “I know.”  
  
John nodded then sighed. “But it makes you two happy, and that’s enough for me I guess. And you never make out in front of me, so that’s a plus.” He chuckled and glanced at Dean. “What happens when-- _if_ you fall, you know, out of love with him?”  
  
“Not gonna happen,” Dean replied, glancing at his father. “And I hope he never falls out of love with me. But I guess, if I did, or he did … one of us would take the baby, and raise them as our own. We’d go back to being brothers.”  
  
John nodded slowly. “Well then … let’s hope-- I hope you two stay together then. He’s good for you, you’re good for him.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean agreed softly. “Dad, I just wanted to thank you, for not disowning us or anything ... or taking a shotgun to us at Bobby’s.”  
  
“Believe me, when I walked into that house--” he took a deep breath. “I thought about it. The second I knew what you were doing … fuck, Dean. Let’s not get into this, okay? It’s okay.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Dean agreed.   
  
They sat in silence, finishing their drinks, watching the sky.  
  
“Well, I think I’m going to head in,” John said, pushing himself up. “Gotta work tomorrow. Night, Dean.” He opened the door and walked inside.  
  
“Night, Dad,” Dean said softly, taking one last drink. He sighed then looked around. “Don’t fall out of love with me, Sammy.” He sighed again then pushed himself up, going inside himself. He closed the door behind him, making sure it was locked. He walked over to the hole in the wall, studying it. He got an idea, he walked down to his bedroom, opening the door quietly, trying not to wake Sam. He walked over to their dresser and opened up the bottom drawer. Underneath his socks and boxers, he found what he was looking for. Going back out to the kitchen, he found a roll of tape in one of the drawers. He walked over to the hole and held the picture up, and luckily, it was just big enough to cover the hole.  
  
He stuck a few pieces of tape on, then stepped back, a smile on his face. A picture of the three of them together, one of the few they had, before Sam had hit his growth spurt and he still had to look up to his big brother. Dean’s smile grew larger; he nodded “That’s it.” He studied the picture for a bit longer, before turning off the lights and going to bed.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
John yawned and stretched, rubbing at his eyes before standing up. He stretched his arms above his head and made his way out into the kitchen, needing his coffee. He walked by the picture on the way, paying no attention at first, but took a step back. He looked at the picture, then smiled, and shook his head. “I’ll get it a frame.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 21/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** NC-17 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** Sam shows up sick at Dean's work; Dean has an interesting cure for the flu  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

Dean looked up when he heard the door to the record store open. He shot up in his seat, eyes wide. “S-- Sam, what are you doing here?”  
  
Sam looked up then wrapped his jacket tighter around him. “Dean,” he called softly, his voice scratchy and rough. He walked over to the counter slowly, obviously tired or weak, or both.  
  
“What’s going on?” Dean asked, walking out from behind the counter, grabbing onto Sam’s shoulders. “Something wrong?”  
  
“I’m getting colder,” Sam said softly, and Dean could him shivering beneath his hands. “And now my throat hurts. How much longer do you have to work for?”  
  
“How did you get here?” Dean asked, ignoring Sam’s question. “Did you walk?”  
  
Sam nodded, then pulled Dean in for a hug, needing something to lean on. “‘S’ not that far.” He buried his head in Dean’s neck, taking a deep breath. “I’m okay.”   
  
“Come on, let’s sit you down,” Dean said softly, pulling away from Sam to lead him back behind the counter, sitting him down in his chair. He knelt in front of Sam, and studied him, seeing how sick he really was. “Sammy, you could’ve just called me. I would’ve gone home.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “You can’t just--” suddenly, he raised his hand to his mouth and sneezed. He shook his head then continued on. “You can’t just leave.”  
  
“I can if you need me,” Dean said softly. “Now you stay here, I’m going to go find Bob, okay? Don’t leave-- don’t move.”  
  
Sam nodded, before sniffing his nose, and looking around. “It’s nice here.”  
  
Dean smiled then pushed himself up, going to the back to find Bob. “Hey Bob, can I talk to you?”  
  
Bob stuck his head out from around a shelf, and nodded. “What’s up?”  
  
“Listen, Sam’s here, and he’s sick, and completely miserable, and I was just wondering--”  
  
“Sam’s here?” Bob interrupted. “Dude, I want to meet him.” He stepped out from behind the shelf, and wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulder, walking him out of the stock room. “Now go on.”  
  
“How much longer do I have to stay?” Dean asked, glancing up at Bob. “Like I said, he’s got the flu, and now he’s here, and--”  
  
“That’s him?” Bob asked, pointing to Sam, who had his knees up to his chest, still shivering. “Man, he’s good looking.”  
  
“A: Stop interrupting me!” Dean snapped. “B: you’re straight, and C: he’s mine. So how much longer?”  
  
“What time is it now?” Bob asked, continuing walking up the counter.  
  
Dean glanced at his watch. “Five forty-five.”  
  
“Leave at six,” Bob answered, stopping when they got to the counter. “Sam?”  
  
Sam looked over and up at them, looking slightly confused, before he realized who it must be. “Uh-- yeah. Are you-- are you Bob?”  
  
Bob smiled then turned to Dean. “Oh, you’ve mentioned me? I’m flattered. Yes, I am Bob. So flu, huh Sam?”  
  
Sam nodded slowly, before sneezing again. “Ye-- yeah. I hope it’s okay that I came, I didn’t know-- Dean said if I needed him--”  
  
Bob waved his hand, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, I don’t care. I’m glad I got to meet you.”  
  
Sam nodded again. “Yeah, you too. So he can leave?”   
  
Bob nodded then let his arm drop from Dean’s shoulder. “Yup, fifteen minutes, and he’s all yours.” He turned around and began walking back to the stock room, before turning around to face them again. “And don’t be shy about dropping back in, Sam.”  
  
Sam smiled then glanced at Dean, eyebrow raised. “Is he hitting on me?”  
  
Dean looked from Bob back to Sam. “I…I do not know. Can you wait fifteen minutes?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I can wait. I’m sorry I bothered you at work.”  
  
Dean shook his head then leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to Sam’s lips. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe Bob’s right, maybe you _should_ drop in more often.”  
  
Sam smiled against Dean’s lips then tilted his head, giving Dean a real kiss. “We probably shouldn’t do that anymore; don’t want you to get sick too.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. Wouldn’t matter to me if you had the plague, I’d still be kissing you.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Good to know; you know, in case I ever get the plague.”  
  
Dean chuckled and sighed. “Everything else…okay?” He glanced down at Sam’s stomach.   
  
Sam glanced down at his stomach, then smiled. “Yeah, it’s fine.” He shook as a shiver ran down his spine, and he wrapped his arms around himself tighter. “Is fifteen minutes up yet?”  
  
Dean laughed and shook his head. “Not yet, Sammy. You know, Bob’s in the back, I can probably duck out now, take you home.”  
  
Sam looked around the store, and saw Bob wasn’t in sight then nodded. “Take me home,” he pleaded softly, holding his arms out for Dean to help him up. Dean pulled him out of the chair and wrapped one arm around his waist, walking with him slowly, keeping him up. Sam leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder, his eyes almost closing. “I’m tired.”  
  
Dean pushed the door open and walked outside into the bright sun, taking Sam to the Impala. Opening the passenger door for him, he held onto Sam’s arm until he was in the seat then closed the door for him. He jogged to the other side of the car, and climbed in. “Hey, Sammy, you don’t look so good.”  
  
Sam’s head lolled to one side, and he glared at Dean. “Yeah, thanks for that, Dean. I know, okay? I probably look as bad as I feel. Do we have any soup at home?”  
  
Dean nodded, checking both ways before guiding the car out of the parking lot onto the road. “Maybe you should have a bath too. I don’t trust you to stand in a shower.”  
  
“Dean,” Sam protested, lifting his head from the seat. “I haven’t had a bath since I was like ten.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“I can’t believe you got me in the bath,” Sam muttered, sinking down into the warm water. He groaned in delight as the warm water enveloped his body. “Christ that feels good.”  
  
Dean smiled then stuck his hand in the water, testing the temperature. “Not too warm?”  
  
Sam leaned his head back; eyes closed, and shook his head. “Feels great.” He sighed then shifted his long legs, trying to get them comfortable. “Need a longer tub.”  
  
“Need shorter legs,” Dean mumbled. “I mean, really, the average population is _not_ six four, Sammy.” He leaned his head against the cupboards, wishing he had brought a magazine or something in with him. They stayed silent for minutes on end, the only sound the water whenever Sam moved, or maybe a sigh from either brother.   
  
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Sam said finally, breaking the silence.  
  
Dean lifted his head and looked at Sam, who was watching him with one eye open.  
  
“I can do this myself,” Sam finished, settling back into the water.  
  
Dean shrugged then set his head back again. “Meh. Doesn’t matter to me, I got nothing better to do.”  
  
“Am I supposed to wash myself, or is this strictly for relaxation here?” Sam asked, lifting his head off the edge of the tub.  
  
Dean shrugged again, and then literally began twiddling his thumbs, “Whatever you want.”  
  
Sam sat up in the water then glanced behind him. “I wonder…do you think two people could fit in this tub?”  
  
“Two normal-sized people, yeah,” Dean answered, seeing how much room Sam took up on his own. “One normal-sized and then _you_ \-- probably not.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes then sat back. “Gee, thanks.” He fumbled for the bar of soap then dipped it in the water, getting it wet. He began rubbing the soap over his left arm, covering it in white bubbles, before he set the soap on the edge of the tub and cupped a handful of water with his other hand, washing the soap off. He did his right arm the same way then sat up again to get his shoulders. Once he was done with them, he held the bar of soap out to Dean.  
  
Dean just stared at the soap then looked up at Sam, disbelief in his eyes. “What _exactly_ do you expect me to do with that?”  
  
“Get my back,” Sam answered, shaking the bar of soap at Dean. “Come on, hurry up.”  
  
Dean groaned and rolled his eyes, but took the bar of soap anyway. He got up on his knees, and pushed up the sleeves on his plaid shirt. He then cupped water in his hand; getting Sam’s already wet back even wetter and began to rub the bar of soap onto the golden skin. His other hand went to Sam’s chest, holding him up to the soap. “That good, master?”  
  
Sam nodded, and dropped his head forward. He groaned softly as Dean got more water to wash the soap of Sam’s back. “That feels _so_ good. Mmm.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked softly, leaning down to press a kiss between Sam’s shoulder blades. “What about that?”  
  
Sam nodded and groaned as Dean’s lips moved up to his neck, sucking the skin into his mouth, nipping at the skin, before soothing it with his tongue. “Fuck,” he moaned, trying to keep himself calm. “D-- Dean, we--” Sam cried out as the hand on his chest dipped lower beneath the water, Dean’s palm rubbing across the head of his cock. “Dean, please, not-- not now.” He gasped as Dean grasped him firmly in his hand. “Dean, I’m sick.”  
  
“I know,” Dean mumbled into Sam’s back, the bar of soap long forgotten. “Maybe this will make you feel better.” He began stroking Sam, the warm water adding to the sensation. “Just let me do this, Sam, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded then threw his head back, his hands gripping at the side of the tub. “Oh my god, Dean. Dean-- please--”  
  
“Shh,” Dean said softly, sucking Sam’s earlobe into his mouth. “I’ll get you there, just breathe.” He began working his hand faster, tiny ripples spreading in the water where droplets had landed. “You’re close already, aren’t you?”  
  
Sam whimpered and nodded his head furiously. His feet pressed hard against the foot of the tub, trying to brace himself for the release coming. “Fuck!” he cried out, hoping their father hadn’t come home while they were in the bathroom. “Dean-- Dean-- please. Please you have to--”  
  
“Shh,” Dean said again, pressing kisses all over Sam’s shoulders and neck. “Close your eyes, Sammy. Pretend-- pretend you’re fucking me.” He tightened his grip on Sam. “Feel how tight I am, Sam?”  
  
Sam nodded, and began taking deep, whooping breaths, not doing anything for his already sore throat. “So tight, Dean.”  
  
Dean nodded against Sam’s head, flexing his hand around Sam rhythmically. “Feel that Sammy?” The fingers that had entangled in Sam’s hair gripped tightly and turned Sam’s head, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. Their tongues battled as one of Sam’s hands flew up to grab Dean’s hand, holding him close.   
  
Sam cried out, muffled by Dean’s mouth, and he broke the kiss, letting out a long whine as his cock pulsed into Dean’s grip, and his head thumped back against the wall, his waist twisted awkwardly.   
  
Dean smiled then pulled back, the water keeping his hand clean. He wiped his hands on his jeans and unconsciously licked his lips at the sight before him. “Feel any better?”  
  
Sam opened his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I hope you can carry me to the bedroom.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “That good, huh?”  
  
Sam smirked then shifted in the water, leaning back comfortably in the tub. “Naw. Great bath though.”  
  
“Shut up!” Dean snapped, dropping his hand into the water, throwing some onto Sam’s face.  
  
Sam coughed and sputtered, before slapping his hand down, splashing Dean. “Asshole.”  
  
Dean threw more water onto Sam then pushed himself up. As he got to the door, he felt water soak through his shirt. He opened the door then ducked out of the way as Sam threw the bar of soap.  
  
“You better run!” Sam yelled, settling back into the water. He leaned his head back, eyes closed. “But when you come back, bring me something to drink!”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean walked into the bedroom, and flicked on the lights. “Sammy, you still awake?” He heard a groan, and then the lump under the sheets moved. “Dad said you need to drink more.” He lifted his hand, a glass of water in his grip. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and patted Sam’s side. “C’mon Sammy, roll over.”  
  
Sam groaned again, but rolled over anyway. He sat up against the wall, the blankets still wrapped him. “I’m going to have to pee again,” he protested, but opened his mouth when Dean held the glass up to him. He swallowed a couple gulps of the cool water, before closing his mouth and shaking his head. “I hate being sick.”  
  
Dean nodded then set the glass down on the floor, leaving it for Sam if he wanted it later. “I know,” he said softly, brushing Sam’s hair off his forehead. He pressed a kiss there then pulled back. “You’re still warm. Maybe you should take another aspirin or something.”  
  
“What time is it?” Sam asked, trying to glance at Dean’s watch.  
  
“Ten-thirty,” Dean answered, keeping his eyes on Sam. “I’ll be coming to bed soon, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded and let his eyes drift shut, before shimmying down on the bed till his head was back on his pillow. “Thanks for taking care of me.”  
  
Dean nodded, “Of course. You think I want you cranky and sick around me? I don’t think so.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Not-- not with this. With-- with everything.” He sneezed loudly, but just continued on. “With everything,” he repeated, his expression serious. “Thank you for everything with Christopher and-- and the baby _and_ this.”  
  
Dean smiled down at him, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” he said softly. Dean gave Sam another quick kiss then stood up. “Get some sleep.”  
  
Sam nodded back then rolled over onto his side. “G’night, Dean.”  
  
“Night, Sammy,” Dean said, turning the light back off, closing the door behind him. He walked back out down the hall, into the living room. He flopped down at the couch, before sighing and glancing at his father. “How did you do it?”  
  
“Do what?” John asked, glancing over at Dean.  
  
“Take care of us, when we were sick,” Dean explained. “He’s been sick for like, three days, and he’s wearing me out already.”  
  
John shrugged. “Well it’s what a father does; I took care of you because you’re my kids.”  
  
“Yeah, but still … if he’s not better by the day after tomorrow, I’m going to smother him in his sleep,” Dean told him, only half-joking. “We are sure it’s just the flu, right?”  
  
“It’s just the flu,” John confirmed. “After twenty-seven years as a father, I think I can tell, Dean. Stop worrying so much.”  
  
Dean nodded then sighed. “He just-- he hasn’t been sick, since I got him at Stanford. I mean, other than the morning sickness and stuff. But that doesn’t count.” He tapped his foot nervously on the floor, tapping his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “You know what, I think I’m going to go to bed, make sure he’s okay. Night, Dad.” He pushed himself up, then walked quickly back down the bedroom, as if scared something had happened in the minute he had been out of the Dean pushed the door open and shut it behind him, going straight to the mattress. He sat down on the bed, pulling off his socks.   
  
“What’s going on?” Sam asked softly, voice still scratchy.   
  
Dean lifted his hips and pushed off his jeans. “Nothing,” he answered, climbing under the sheets with him. “Are you okay?”  
  
Sam nodded then lifted his head. “You worried about me?”  
  
Dean raised his eyebrow, shaking his head. “Me? _Me_? I don’t think so, Sammy. I’m not worried.”  
  
Sam smiled lightly then ran his fingers through Dean’s cropped hair. “I’m fine. It’s the flu. You know; the flu? People get it all the time.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes then snuggled into the bed, pulling on Sam to get him to lie on his chest. Once they were comfortable together, Sam’s head tucked under Dean’s chin, his breath tickling Dean’s chest. “Yeah well, pregnant men I’m in love with don’t get it all the time.”  
  
Sam snorted, and began tracing random shapes on Dean’s chest. “You’re in love with more than one pregnant man?”  
  
“Oh, _yeah_ ,” Dean nodded, running his fingers up and down Sam’s back. “Didn’t I tell you? Totally a kink of mine.”  
  
“Good to know,” Sam nodded, pressing a kiss to Dean’s collarbone. “You’ll have to introduce me sometime.”  
  
“Definitely,” Dean agreed, before he began laughing. “God, don’t worry Sammy, I can only put up with one hormonal guy with the flu at a time.”  
  
Sam smiled against Dean’s chest before he yawned loudly, cuddling closer. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“‘S’ okay,” Dean mumbled, his eyes drifting shut as exhaustion began to take over. He licked at his lips then mumbled, and his hand on Sam’s back stilled. The room was silent save for their breathing for minutes, before Dean spoke up again.   
  
“But like I told Dad: get better or I smother you.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 22/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** NC-17 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** It's Halloween, Dean's favourite night of the year, and Sam gives him a bit of a scare  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

“Sammy.”  
  
Sam groaned and rolled over, trying to get away from the voice. He grabbed at his sheets, pulling them closer.  
  
“Sammy,” Dean said again, a sing-song voice. “Sammy, I know you’re awake. Get up!”  
  
“Fuck off,” Sam mumbled. He felt his sheets getting pulled off him, the cool air around him hitting his skin. “Dean, stop it!”  
  
“Sammy!” Dean screeched, pulling the sheets off all the way, throwing them off the mattress. “Guess what day it is! Guess what day it is!” He began bouncing on his knees, clapping his hands.  
  
“God, what is your damage?” Sam threw an arm back blindly, connecting with Dean’s stomach. “Stop it, I’m tired.”  
  
“Wrong!” Dean yelled, and began bouncing harder. “It’s Halloween!”  
  
Sam sighed, then rolled over, looking up at Dean. “It’s also eight in the morning. In case you forgot, you have to work today.” He groaned and rubbed his eyes.  
  
“But after that-- we’re going trick or treating, right?” Dean asked, finally calming down a little.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes then sat up, leaning against the wall. He wasn’t completely sure whether Dean was serious or not, but knowing Dean, it was quite possible he was. He sighed. “Dean, you’re twenty-seven. We’re not trick or treating. Again, your damage is _what_ , exactly?”  
  
“Dad said that Paula said no one ever comes here, but he said he’d stay around, in case they did,” Dean explained, “Which means, we’re free.”  
  
“You know how I feel about Halloween,” Sam muttered, before realizing it had been a year since he said those exact words to Jess.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Dean said. “But come on, Sammy. There’s going to be this haunted house--”  
  
“Christ,” Sam muttered.  
  
“And you know what I love-- par-tay!” Dean said, as he began snap his fingers and partake in a little happy dance. “Man, we haven’t been to a good party since--”  
  
“Why do we need to go to a party?” Sam interrupted, looking up at Dean in confusion. “You only go to parties to get laid.”  
  
“I want to show off my man,” Dean said, voice low and rough. He grabbed Sam’s cheeks and pulled him in for a hard kiss, teasing Sam’s lips with his tongue. He pulled away, breath coming in short pants. “Fuck!” he yelled, hopping up off the mattress. “I’m so horny!”  
  
Sam shook his head and began to laugh, arms crossed on his chest. “God, you’re the only person in the world who gets horny from Halloween.”  
  
“But you’ll come with me, right?” Dean asked, looking down at Sam. “It’s at UCLA. That’s not a problem is it?”  
  
Sam sighed then shook his head. “No, no, it’s fine. Stanford has its own parties. Now really, shouldn’t you be going soon?”  
  
“You just want to get back to sleep,” Dean pointed out. “But yes, you are correct. Now, I’m going to be home right after eight, okay?  
  
Sam yawned then nodded.  
  
“Then we’ll get all showered, dressed, and we can be on the road to L.A. by eight thirty,” Dean continued.  
  
“Dean, you really don’t have to plan all this--” Sam began, sitting up straighter.  
  
“Well the haunted house isn’t going to stay open forever, Sammy,” Dean pointed out. “So we’ll do that, then we’ll show up at UCLA. Sound good?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, whatever … but really Dean, it’s just Halloween.”  
  
Dean dropped back onto the mattress, and grasped onto Sam’s shoulders. “It’s _not_ just Halloween, Sammy. It’s special.”  
  
Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “Wait wait, lemme guess … it has something to do with Batman, doesn’t it? Ooh, no wait-- Oprah.”  
  
Dean sighed then shook his head. “Fine. Fine.” He stood up, walked to the closet and grabbed a plaid shirt off the hanger. “Never mind,” he pulled the shirt on quickly then began buttoning.  
  
Sam looked over at Dean in confusion, before pushing himself up, and walking over to the closet. “Dean? What-- what’s going on? Did something else happen today? Tell me.”  
  
Dean shook his head then cleared his throat. “No, no, it’s fine Sammy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to work, Bob wants me in before nine.” He pushed past Sam and walked quickly out of the room, leaving Sam stunned for a moment before he snapped back to reality and went after him.  
  
“Dean!” Sam called after him. He managed to catch Dean before he slipped out the door, grabbing onto his arm. “Dean, come on, what’s going on? Today obviously means something to you, just-- just tell me what it is.”  
  
“Sammy, I’m supposed to be the man in this relationship,” Dean said, seemingly changing the subject.  
  
Sam’s eyes filled with confusion, and he cocked his head slightly to the side. He sighed, shifting on the balls of his feet. “Okay … _what_?”  
  
“ _I_ am supposed to be the one who forgets anniversaries,” Dean continued.  
  
Sam nodded slowly, still confused. “I don’t-- oh.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “ _Oh._ One year since I showed up at Stanford.”  
  
Sam shifted on his feet, and wished he had jeans on so he’d have somewhere to shove his hands. “I … I didn’t know we were counting it as an anniversary.”  
  
“Well, we are,” Dean snapped. “Or at least, I am. Sam, you have no idea how hard it was for me to go and see you that night, okay? I didn’t know what you were going to do, or say, or _anything_. I was scared that night, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Sam said softly, nodding. “I’m sorry. I just-- I’m sorry.”  
  
Dean nodded then looked away from Sam, clearing his throat. “Okay then. I gotta go to work, so I should…I should get going.” He shifted on his feet, then stood up on his tiptoes, kissing Sam quickly. “Eight, remember? And don’t dress like a nerd. If you’re gonna be my man, you’re gonna have to be hot.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, and gave a small wave, smiling at Dean closed the door behind him. He stood there for a few moments longer, before sighing. “Fuck, I love that man.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam yawned and stretched his long legs out. He began flipping through the channels, trying to find something else to watch on television than Jerry Springer or Maury. “Dean was right; daytime TV _does_ suck.” He groaned then stood up, getting antsy. He hated being home alone all day, nothing to do. “Need a job,” Sam mumbled, going to the refrigerator for a drink. He sighed, looked around the kitchen, sipping his milk. He grabbed the bread, mayonnaise and the salami out the fridge then grabbed a butter knife from the drawer. He made his sandwich quickly then walked back out to the living room. He flopped down on the couch, then began channel surfing again. “Oh great, Junior is on. What a coincidence.” He checked to see what else was on, then finally decided Junior might be the only thing.  
  
_“Let me shake hands with the man who would be Mom.”_  
  
Sam groaned and turned off the television quickly. He shifted in his seat then finished off his sandwich. “I need something to do!” he cried, not used to being this bored all the time. “Ugh.” He sighed, and then leaned his head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “I need … a job. I need … a friend.” He lifted his head back up, and stared at the black screen of the television. “I need to get out of this apartment.” Sam stood up, walked down to his bedroom and went to his closet. He grabbed a pair of jeans, and a hoodie to pull on over his shirt.   
  
Sam got dressed quickly then grabbed his key off the dresser. Walking out of the room, he went to the apartment entrance, slipping his sneakers on his feet, tying them. He sighed then left the apartment, locking the door behind him. He jogged down the stairs, and pushed open the door, the bright sunlight nearly blinding him. He walked across the courtyard, taking deep breaths of the fall air. Leaving the apartment parking lot, he just turned left and started walking. In the almost month they’d lived in Anaheim, he hadn’t really checked out the neighbourhood, save for the walk to the record store, and the drive to the warehouse.  
  
Two-thirty on a Tuesday afternoon, there weren’t exactly a lot of people out and about. Sam stuck his hands in his pockets, and looked both ways, before walking quickly across the street. He began smiling, inexplicably. He thought it had something to do with finally being outside in the sun, but in his case, it could just be the hormones.   
  
There were more houses on this street, children’s toys on the front lawns. Sam’s smile grew at the thought of children’s toys at their apartment, in only a few months. He had to bite his lip to keep his grin from growing any larger.   
  
Sam slowed his strides, taking in the residential area, feeling the sun beat down on him. Somehow, no matter where in the country he was, it always smelt like Halloween. Turning a corner, a wave of fatigue came upon him. Suddenly, he felt so tired, so weak. He looked back, and realizing he was quite far from the apartment now, he knew if he tried to make it back he’d probably end up passing out on the sidewalk. He sighed and then looked around. He could handle poltergeists, demons, werewolves and vampires, but the thought of being alone, in an unfamiliar place…  
  
Sam shuddered and took a couple steps, before he could barely move his legs. He rubbed his eyes, and fought the urge to sit down on the sidewalk, knowing that if he did, he wouldn’t be getting back up a while. He began breathing harshly, not sure which way he was going to go. He should’ve brought his cell phone with him, he should’ve thought ahead.  
  
Trying to calm down, Sam looked around, not even quite sure where he was. He knew that if he turned around, he’d be able to find the apartment, but not quickly enough. He turned around, facing the way he came, then began walking, a slow process. He turned the corner he had just come around, and saw something he hadn’t seen before: a playground ... with a bench. Sam sighed in relief then made his way to the playground, sitting down on the bench. “I’ll just sit here, until it’s over,” Sam muttered, but his eyes began drifting shut anyway, against his wishes and his better judgement.  
  
“Excuse me, sir,” a voice cut in through Sam’s dreams, jarring him awake.  
  
“Huh?” Sam lifted his head, automatically feeling the new crick in his neck.  
  
“I don’t think you’re allowed to sleep there,” the young girl told him.  
  
Was that a tone of disgust Sam heard? Sam looked around, unsure where he was until he remembered his walk, and then his fatigue. “Uh, no. Probably not.”  
  
“Are you homeless?” the girl asked suddenly, shifting on her feet.  
  
“No,” Sam assured her quickly. “I have an apartment, a _nice_ one, a few blocks away.” He stood up and began walking, but girl was at his side before he got far.  
  
“I’m Allison,” the girl said, having to jog to keep up with Sam’s long strides.  
  
“Sam,” he said, quickening his pace. He didn’t know what time it was, but if it was even a minute after six, John would be thinking the worst. “Not that it’s any of your business. What are you-- ten?”  
  
“Twelve,” Allison answered, still trying to keep up. “Why are you running?”  
  
“Because I’ve been gone for hours,” Sam replied. That wasn’t entirely true; he didn’t know it had been hours. “And someone is going to be missing me.”  
  
“Someone who?” Allison asked.  
  
“My boyfriend,” Sam snapped. “My dad. And they’re _very_ protective. Shouldn’t you be home by now?”  
  
Allison shrugged. “It’s Halloween; I’m supposed to be trick-or-treating.”  
  
“Then shoo!” Sam told her. “Now excuse me, this is my stop. It’s been…something. Bye.” He broke into a full run, dashing through the courtyard, then up the stairs and down the hallway. He took a deep breath, then tried the door. Open. At the least, John was home, waiting for him. He pushed open the door, then stepped inside. “Hello?” he called out as he kicked off his shoes.  
  
“Sam!” Dean came round the corner, pulling Sam in for hard hug. “Fuck. Where were you?”  
  
Sam buried his head in Dean’s neck, inhaling his scent. “What time is it?”  
  
“Six forty-five,” Dean answered, pulling back. “Where were you?”  
  
“I fell asleep,” Sam admitted softly, “In the park. I went for a walk. Wait, wh-- why are you home?”  
  
“Dad called, told me you were missing,” Dean told him, reaching up to stroke Sam’s cheek. “Since-- since we didn’t know when you left, we were going to give it another fifteen minutes. Fuck, Sammy,” he pulled him in again. “Don’t _do_ that to me.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I didn’t mean to. I was bored, so I went for a walk. But-- but I got so tired, so I just sat down. I’m sorry.” Sam sighed, leant down and kissed Dean gently. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“You scared me,” Dean told him, linking his fingers with Sam’s.  
  
“Sam!” John called, walking out of the bathroom. He ran over, pulling Sam in for a quick hug. “Where were you?”  
  
“The park,” Dean answered. “He fell asleep.”  
  
“Sorry,” Sam said again, glancing at John.  
  
“It’s okay,” John told him. “I’m just glad you’re safe. I didn’t know-- _we_ didn’t know where you were, or what happened. Kind of like that time we-- _I_ lost you in the mall.”  
  
Sam smiled then looked down at the floor, “I should’ve brought my cell. I was just-- I just got so tired all of a sudden. I thought I was over that part of the pregnancy. I won’t … it won’t happen again.”  
  
“Next time you decide to go for a walk, take your phone,” Dean told him, rubbing circles on his back.   
  
Sam nodded, biting his lip. He sighed then lifted his head, glancing at John and then Dean. “Well, if I don’t feel like the stupidest guy ever.”  
  
“Sam--” Dean began, dropping his arm.  
  
“No, Dean, I-- I should’ve taken my phone today,” Sam said. “I just … I’m twenty-three; I shouldn’t have to be told to take my phone. I shouldn’t have to be treated like a kid.” He sighed then brushed past his father, walking down the hall to his bedroom. He pushed the door open, walked to the mattress and dropped down onto it.  
  
“Sam?” Dean asked softly, walking into the room. “You okay?” He pushed the door closed behind him, and sat down beside Sam. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like I think you’re a kid, Sam.”  
  
Sam nodded then sighed. “I know. It’s just-- even if I wasn’t … pregnant, I still should’ve taken my phone. After everything we’ve ever been through, I should’ve known.”  
  
“So what happened?” Dean asked, glancing over at Sam.  
  
Sam shrugged, then glanced back. “I was bored, and there’s nothing to do around here … I went for a walk. But then I just got really tired all of a sudden.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean said, urging Sam to continue.  
  
“I didn’t know if I could make it back, I was so tired,” Sam continued. “I was scared,” he said softly, looking over at Dean. “I hate to admit, I hate to say that I was scared, but I think I was. I knew I couldn’t make it back, and I didn’t know where I was going to go.”  
  
“It’s okay though, Sammy,” Dean said softly. “You’re okay.”  
  
“Some twelve-year-old girl woke me up,” Sam told him, a smile in his voice. “She asked me if I was homeless.”  
  
Dean chuckled, before wrapping his arm around Sam’s shoulder, pulling him in. “What’d you tell her?”  
  
“Told her I had a nice apartment, and a boyfriend waiting for me,” Sam said, looking at Dean. “It’s true.”  
  
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “it is.” He kissed Sam sweetly, nothing hard or demanding about it. “Do you still want to go out tonight? We can just stay in, if you want.”  
  
Sam smiled thankfully, but shook his head anyway. “No, it’s our anniversary. We need to celebrate it. We can still go.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked, slightly surprised Sam still wanted to go out.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam nodded, kissing him again. “I know you love Halloween, for some weird reason. I know it makes you happy. I’m sorry I made you come home early from work again. We’re lucky you have such a nice boss.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t care. He thinks you’re cute, thinks I’m cute--”  
  
“Wait,” Sam said, raising a hand to stop him. “I thought you said he’s straight.”  
  
“That’s the weird part,” Dean nodded, “he _is_. I don’t know; he just likes me. He’s a cool guy. And besides, if he didn’t let me leave early today, I would have anyway. I didn’t know where you were.” He sighed and pulled Sam in for a hug, pressing a wet kiss to his forehead. “You’re not leaving my side tonight.”  
  
Sam nodded then ducked his head under Dean’s chin. “I promise.”  
  
Dean pulled away, and cleared his throat. “Okay, well, since we’re home now, may as well get dressed.”  
  
“I _am_ dressed,” Sam protested, watching Dean as he walked over to the closet. “So are you.”  
  
Dean turned around from the closet, an eyebrow raised. “I don’t think so, Sammy. We’re going to look nice tonight. It’s a date.”  
  
Sam looked down at what he was wearing then looked Dean up and down. “We look fine!”  
  
“Shut up,” Dean snapped playfully, turning back to the closet. “You obviously have no idea what looks good.”  
  
“I know your ass looks good in those jeans,” Sam remarked.  
  
“Yeah well, that’s a given,” Dean replied. “Here, you can wear this shirt.” He tossed the [ light blue sweater](http://i97.photobucket.com/albums/l236/lookwhatlovehasdone/chapter22-partysamsshirt.jpg) over to Sam then went back to the closet. “Jeans, jeans…well, I’m keeping _my_ jeans on. But you can wear these.”  
  
Sam ducked as the denim flew towards him. “Christ Dean, watch where you’re throwing that.”  
  
Dean shrugged and pulled off his grey t-shirt, dropping it down to the floor. He glanced back at Sam, and noticed that his brother was watching him intently. “What?”  
  
Sam shrugged and leant back on the mattress, palms propping him up. “Nothing. Can’t a guy just watch a good looking guy undress?”  
  
“Not in four of the fifty states, you can’t,” Dean muttered, going through the hangers in the closet. He grabbed his [ red shirt](http://i97.photobucket.com/albums/l236/lookwhatlovehasdone/chapter22-partydeansshirt.jpg), and dropped it on the floor, before turning around to Sam. “Is my black t-shirt in the dresser?”  
  
“I think so,” Sam answered.  
  
Dean walked from the closet to the dresser, pulling open the middle drawer. “Here, you’ll wanna wear this under the sweater.” He handed a white t-shirt to Sam then went back to looking for his shirt. In the reflection of the mirror, he saw Sam walk up behind him. Then he felt Sam’s warm hands on his hips, moving slowly to the front, fingers dipping slightly under the waist of his jeans. “You found my shirt?” Dean asked jokingly, before Sam began mouthing the back of his neck, tongue coming out to taste his skin.  
  
Sam moved his mouth to Dean’s ear, sucking on that spot right behind it before he spoke. “You know, I never repaid you for taking care of me last week.”   
  
Dean shrugged, and then shuddered as Sam’s fingers began dragging up and down his side, almost tickling him. “Not a problem. You were sick.”  
  
“I meant in the bath,” Sam said softly, his breath warm in Dean’s ear.  
  
“Oh,” Dean said. “Well then, go for it.”  
  
Sam smiled and began pressing kisses all along Dean’s shoulders, sucking on skin in random patterns, nipping with his teeth. “I want to fuck you … against this dresser.” He ground his hips against Dean’s, Dean feeling him hard even with two layers of denim between them.  
  
Dean groaned then arched his back slightly when Sam’s hand pressed to his own bulge in his jeans.   
  
“I can’t believe it’s been a year,” Sam continued softly. “A year ago I never even dreamed of this.”  
  
“Never?” Dean managed to get out as Sam’s began to unbutton his jeans.  
  
Sam lifted his head, smiling at Dean in the mirror. “Well, maybe once or twice. Can you blame me? You’re fucking gorgeous.”  
  
“You sure you wanna do this now?” Dean asked. “I mean, not after the party?”  
  
Sam shrugged then slipped his hand inside Dean’s boxers. “After the party too.” He grabbed onto the base of Dean’s cock, feeling him shudder beneath him. “Like that?”  
  
Dean nodded furiously, then grabbed onto the edge of dresser, needing something to hold onto. He let out a tiny broken cry as Sam began stroking him.   
  
Sam dropped his other hand from Dean’s side and pushed the drawer closed. “Wouldn’t want anything to get stained.”  
  
Dean shook his head then began fumbling for the small tube of lube on top of the dresser. “H-- here.”  
  
Sam pressed a kiss to the side of Dean’s neck and took the tube from him. “Thanks.” He pushed Dean’s jeans and boxers down with one hand then began undoing his jeans with the other. Shoving his own jeans and boxers down to mid-thigh, he flipped open the tube of lube. Pouring some onto his hand, he quickly slicked himself then teased Dean’s entrance lightly. Dean’s shoulders shook and he hunched over slightly. Sam was beginning to like the mirror idea when he saw Dean’s tongue flick out to wet his lips. He set the lube back on the dresser, then gripped his cock, guiding himself to Dean’s entrance. He just spread his legs a little to help with the height difference, then began to push in.  
  
Dean gasped, and his head dropped forward. He took a deep breath, and relaxed his muscles, allowing Sam to sink further into him. “Fuck,” he muttered, his knuckles white on the dresser. He glanced up to the mirror, and saw Sam’s eyes squeezed shut, his head thrown slightly back. “Beautiful,” he said, reaching back to grab Sam’s hand, gripping it tightly in his.  
  
“You okay?” Sam asked softly, surprised at the gesture.   
  
Dean nodded then pushed his hips back. “Just-- god, Sammy, just fuck me.”  
  
Sam pulled his hips back before sliding back in. Dean gasped again and his head went back, eyes squeezed shut. He smiled then began thrusting quicker and harder. Every time Sam thrust in, Dean would jerk and let out a tiny gasp. Sam was biting his bottom lip, trying to keep the moaning to a minimum, as John was still in the apartment.  
  
With every thrust, the dresser and mirror would wobble a bit, but never smacked into the wall, thankfully. The hole in the kitchen was enough for their apartment.   
  
Sam let his hand drift down from Dean’s hip to grasp his cock, and resumed stroking, using the leftover lube on his palm. He dropped his head to Dean’s shoulder, sucking Dean’s earlobe into his mouth, before moving his mouth up to trace the outer shell.  
  
Dean’s grip on Sam’s hand tightened even more, and Sam could feel him trembling, his eyes still squeezed shut.  
  
“It’s okay,” Sam said softly, licking a path up the side of Dean’s neck. “You don’t--” he let out a broken off groan, “don’t have to hold back.” He leaned forward, kissing at Dean’s cheek. Dean got the message and turned his head, meeting Sam for a kiss. Sam’s tongue came out to play with Dean’s full lips, before sliding into Dean’s mouth to tease his tongue.  
  
Dean moaned, and began kissing Sam harder. He broke away, taking a deep breath, and hunched over more. As his cock pulsed into Sam’s hand, Dean felt his knees give way, thanking god for the dresser. Sam stroked him through the aftershocks, until the stimulation against his over-sensitive cock became too much for Dean.   
  
The feeling of Dean coming around him, and the knowledge that he was the one who had done it tipped Sam over the edge, thrusting into him a few more times before he came, the familiar warmth spreading through Dean. He pumped his hips a couple more times weakly, a reflex, before he slumped forward, chest completely pressed to Dean’s back, his head resting on the back of Dean’s. “Fuck.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Not again.”  
  
Sam chuckled, moving his hand back to Dean’s hip, bracing himself as he carefully pulled out. He stepped back, pulled up his boxers and jeans and buttoned them before going back to the mattress, sitting down.  
  
Dean sighed then pulled up his own boxers and jeans. He opened the middle drawer back up and began going through it again. “So I’m guessing you didn’t find my shirt.”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Aren’t you two a little big to be going into a haunted house?” the woman sitting out front asked.  
  
“Pfft, no,” Dean answered, glancing up at Sam. “Aren’t you a little big to be--”  
  
“Let’s go, Dean,” Sam snapped, pulling Dean along, away from the woman. “God. You know, I like being able to take you out in public. Let’s try and keep it that way.”  
  
“You ready, Sam?” Dean asked, getting giddy with excitement.   
  
“Oh yeah,” Sam deadpanned, “Definitely. Because you know, after ghosts, demons and vampires, _this_ is what’s going to scare me.”  
  
“Don’t be such a party pooper, Sammy,” Dean told him, walking in through the entrance. He smiled as Sam had to duck to walk in. “So bathtubs and haunted houses…what else don’t they make for you?”  
  
“Shut up,” Sam said, letting Dean lead him along. “Can we just hurry this up, please? It’s not going to be-- Ahh!” A door had opened in front of them, a large wolf-like creature jumping out at them.  
  
Dean could barely control his laughter. “Oh my god, Sammy, haha, you screamed.”  
  
“Shut up,” Sam mumbled, slightly embarrassed. “ _Now_ can we hurry it up?” he pleaded, his grip on Dean’s hand tightening.   
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered, walking quicker. “Don’t worry, Sam, I’ll protect you.”  
  
“Protect me?” Sam asked. “Dean, I’m letting them eat you first.” He stayed as close behind Dean as he could, just in case anything else jumped out at them.   
  
“You know…we could probably hide in a corner somewhere--” Dean began, waggling his eyebrows.  
  
“Dean, we’re not having sex in a haunted house!” Sam snapped, keeping his voice low for that sentence. He had to duck again, to avoid hitting another doorframe. “Christ.”  
  
Dean could feel Sam’s palm sweating in his, and he could tell Sam was jittery, and trembling. “You’re actually scared, aren’t you?” he asked softly, looking up at Sam.  
  
“Am not,” Sam answered automatically. “Well, maybe a little. But I’m fine, and no jokes.”  
  
Dean shook his head, stopping as they came to a fork in the path of the house. “So which way Sammy, left or right?”  
  
Sam glanced both ways, seeing nothing to help them make their choice. “What if only one way leads out?” he asked, and Dean was almost sure that was fear creeping into his voice.  
  
“Sammy, what’s going on?” Dean asked, leaning against the wall. “You’re not supposed to be scared of all this stuff.”  
  
Sam snorted then began tapping his foot on the floor nervously. “You…you remember how when I was nine, I was afraid of the dark?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, of course.”  
  
Sam smiled weakly. “Never _really_ got over it, I guess.”  
  
“Are you serious?” Dean asked, pushing himself off the wall. “Sammy, what-- I don’t get it.”  
  
“What’s not to get?” Sam asked. “I’m scared of the dark. I mean, ghosts, demons, I can see those things, I can kill those things. This-- the dark is what hides those things. I don’t know what’s hiding in the dark.”  
  
“There’s nothing in the dark that isn’t there in the light,” Dean pointed out.  
  
“Yeah well, I haven’t seen this place in the light before,” Sam snapped. “I just-- let’s just pick a way and get out of here, please?”  
  
“Yeah, of course,” Dean assured him. “Come on. Let’s go left.” He grabbed onto Sam’s hand and began leading him down the left hallway. “Just stay close, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, then ducked his head and closed his eyes, just letting Dean lead him. “Thank you, for not making fun of me.”  
  
Dean shrugged then glanced back at Sam. “I’ll admit, it was pretty funny when you were actually nine, but it’s just kind of sad, now.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes under his eyelids then gasped as there was a loud shriek.  
  
“It’s just a fake scream,” Dean told him. “I’m still here.”  
  
“Just tell me we’re close to getting out of here,” Sam pleaded. “I wanna be outside again, where’s there light.”  
  
“I think this is the exit,” Dean answered, pushing the door open. The bright light shone into his eyes, blinding him for a few seconds. “It’s okay now, Sammy.”  
  
Sam sighed and opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to the sunlight on his face. He smiled then looked down at Dean. “Thank you,” he said softly, giving him a quick kiss.   
  
Dean smiled up at him then shrugged. “It’s what I do. Now come on, gotta get to UCLA. Make you forget about this place.” They walked past the woman who had spoke to them earlier, but thankfully, Dean ignored her, and just walked to the car.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s hand, and allowed himself to be pulled the swarm of people. He ducked his head, still not completely comfortable with his height with this many people around.  
  
Dean felt Sam’s fingers tighten, and turned back to face him. “You okay?” he asked over the loud music.  
  
“Fine!” Sam yelled, nodding.  
  
Sensing the loud music might be making Sam uncomfortable, Dean led him through the crowd, outside to the poolside. “Better?” he asked, not having to yell.  
  
Sam nodded then smiled gratefully. “How did you even hear of this?”  
  
Dean shrugged, then grabbed a beer of some guy’s hand, taking a drink and ignoring the man’s protest, before handing it back. “Record store.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Ah, I see.” He sat down on a pool chair and set his feet on the ground, giving Dean enough room to sit down with him. “I guess parties aren’t so fun when you’re not cruising for chicks.”  
  
“Who said I’m not cruising for chicks?” Dean asked, scanning the crowd.  
  
“Shut up,” Sam laughed, smacking the back of Dean’s head. “If you ever cruise for another chick I’m going to rip her hair out and strangle you with it.”  
  
Dean smiled. “Wow, Sam, what a way to hit my kinks. You’re good, I’ll give you that. But don’t worry, I’ve got enough woman right here,” he said, patting Sam’s knee.  
  
“Do you _want_ me to hit you again?” Sam asked, sitting up in the chair, “Because I will.”  
  
Dean smiled and began nodding his head to the music, watching Sam watching him out of the corner of his eye. “So this is college life, huh?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “I didn’t go to many parties. I was more of a library kind of guy.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. “ _Was_?”  
  
“Yeah, _was_ ,” Sam nodded, glaring at Dean, knowing what he was getting at. “You’d be surprised how much I’ve stopped going to libraries in a year. I used to be addicted to them.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “You seriously need to pay more attention to yourself, Sammy. Now, do you want a drink?”  
  
Sam shook his head, “Can’t drink, Dean.” he patted his stomach subtly. “You go ahead though, I’ll be fine.”  
  
“I know you will be,” Dean said, glancing over at him. “Just don’t want you to feel left out.”  
  
“I’m not feeling left out,” Sam assured him. “I’ve done this before, the college thing. Truth be told, way overrated.”  
  
“Worth leaving us for?” Dean asked, regretting the words the instant they were out of his mouth.  
  
“Dean--” Sam began.  
  
“Sorry,” Dean interrupted. “I’m sorry. It’s just … for four years you had this whole other life that we knew really nothing about. I just wonder sometimes.”  
  
Sam nodded slowly then sat back. “It was worth leaving,” he said finally. “But just because it made us getting back together that more special. Made _this_ \--” he gestured between them, “more special.”   
  
They sat like that for minutes on end, Dean nodding his head to the music, and grabbing a beer from case being handed around. Sam just smiled, watching Dean, who was only a little fish out of water-ish.  
  
“You wanna dance?” Sam asked when a slow song began filtering outside.  
  
“What?” Dean asked, not sure he heard right.  
  
“Dance,” Sam repeated. “Do you want to? I mean, you’ve danced with girls before, at bars. I’ve seen you.”  
  
Dean lolled his head over to one side, studying Sam. “Yeah, when I’m trying to get laid, I dance with girls.”  
  
Sam just grinned, a bright toothy smile. “Yeah well, you dance with me and you’ll get laid.”  
  
Dean sighed then looked around. Outside, most people were just drinking, but it was obvious that inside quite a few people had begun to dance together. “You’re serious?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Well, yeah, I guess. I don’t know.”  
  
Dean bit on his bottom lip, thinking, before finally, he nodded. “Yeah, let’s go inside.” He set his beer down, and led the way inside. “How do you want to do this?” Dean asked, looking up at Sam. They had never danced before, and Dean had never danced with anyone taller than him. Sam, of course, was used to dancing with people shorter than he was.  
  
Sam settled his hands on Dean’s hips, thankful that Dean had left his jacket in the car, because, of course, Dean wearing a leather jacket would have just made the scene look so much more ridiculous. “I think you can figure the rest out.”  
  
Dean rested one on hand on the nape of Sam’s neck, then reached down and grabbed Sam’s left hand off his hip, holding it in his right. “Like this.” At Sam’s nod, Dean tucked his head under Sam’s chin, and let Sam start moving his feet. Dean began to dance along with him, for once not caring how he looked.   
  
Sam’s hand was warm on Dean’s hip, heat going to Dean’s skin through two shirts. He pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head then looked at where their hands were joined. He sighed, and just let his body move with Dean’s to the music.


	23. Chapter 23

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 23/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** It's November 2nd, the anniversary of Mary and Jessica's deaths  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

Sam walked into the apartment, kicking off his shoes. “Dean?” He wasn’t in the living room, or the kitchen. Sam shrugged and figured he was either in the bathroom or the bedroom. “Maybe he’s not home from work yet,” Sam said to no one but himself. He went to the kitchen, and grabbed a glass of water. Sam paced around the small kitchen space, finishing his drink. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and then made his way down the hall. He pushed the door open then shut it behind him.   
  
Not bothering to flick on the lights, Sam just pulled off his hoodie, and kicked off his jeans, leaving them in a small pile by the door, along with his socks. He yawned, then stretched, and flopped down on the mattress. He climbed under the sheets, and curled up on his side. Not comfortable, he groaned and rolled onto his other side. He sighed then rolled over onto his back. He sighed and yawned again.   
  
Suddenly, he felt something wet on his forehead - a drop, of something. He raised his hand to his forehead, and wiped it off. He opened his eyes then examined his fingers: blood. He dropped his hand and finally saw past his long digits. “Dean.”  
  
It was only a split-second before Dean erupted into flames, the ceiling covered quickly.  
  
“No!” Sam screamed, shooting up in his bed. As he did, their dresser flew across the room, almost smacking into the other wall.  
  
Dean was up at his side almost instantly, his arm around his shoulders, holding Sam to him. “What--” he noticed the dresser on the other side of the room. “What happened?”  
  
Sam worked to get his breath back, staring up at the ceiling. It was fine. Dean was right beside him, still in bed, still alive. “Just a dream,” he murmured to himself.  
  
“What was just a dream?” Dean asked softly.  
  
Sam shook his head then rubbed at his eyes. He felt something on his face, and rubbed at it furiously. Just sweat, maybe tears. No blood. “N-- nothing.” He shrugged Dean off him, then laid back down, eyes still fixed on the ceiling.  
  
Dean looked down at Sam then followed his gaze up to the ceiling. “The ceiling,” Dean said softly, finally understanding. “Sam--”  
  
Sam rolled over on his side away from Dean, obviously content to ignore this subject.   
  
Dean sighed, then lay back down, spooned behind Sam. “Sammy.” He heard a sharp intake of breath. “Sam,” he corrected, “I’m not on that ceiling.”  
  
Sam didn’t say anything, just stared at the wall in front of him. He blinked away his tears and cleared his throat.   
  
“Alright,” Dean said, rolling away from Sam, facing the other wall, the wall that now had their dresser. “Get back to sleep Sammy. It’s only early.”  
  
But Sam didn’t go back to sleep. He lay there; awake, for hours, just staring at the wall. Too scared to look back up at the ceiling, too scared to make sure Dean was still there. The only thing he had was the familiar dip in the mattress, and Dean’s foot occasionally brushing his. He still hadn’t fallen back asleep when he heard Dean groan, and felt him stretch, then sit up.   
  
“Sammy?” Dean asked. Sam didn’t answer him, but Dean still knew he was awake. Dean nodded then ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay. Well, I’m just gonna get dressed, okay? Then I gotta head out to work.” He pushed himself up off the mattress then walked to the closet, quickly grabbing his clothes. He made his way into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.   
  
A few moments later, Sam heard the shower turn on.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
John still hadn’t left yet when Dean walked out of the bathroom, going to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. “Mornin’, Dad.”  
  
“Good morning, Dean,” John said, before taking a drink of his own coffee.   
  
“How come you’re still around?” Dean asked.  
  
“It’s raining, they don’t want us out working until the rain stops,” John answered, “figured I’d get up anyway.”  
  
Dean nodded and poured his coffee. “Dad … can I talk to you?” he asked, sitting down at the table with John.  
  
John nodded. “Shoot.”  
  
“It’s Sam,” Dean said quickly. “He had a nightmare … about me, on the ceiling.”  
  
John drew a sharp breath then slowly looked up at Dean. “I see.”  
  
“He didn’t say anything,” Dean continued, “but I know that’s what it was about. Just-- just the way he was acting. I don’t think he went back to sleep afterwards, either. And it was hours ago. I just … I don’t know what to do.”  
  
“There’s not much we can do,” John said truthfully. “Sam, Sam can be very good at hiding his emotions. He can also avoid any conversation he wants to. You want to talk to him about this, you’re going to have to let him bring it up, understand?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Dean agreed, knowing it was the truth. He took another drink of his coffee then glanced at his watch. “I guess I should be going then.” He stood up from the table, then pushed his chair back in. “I’ll talk to you later, I guess.”  
  
John nodded. “Have fun at work,” he told him, smiling slightly.  
  
Dean chuckled then slipped his feet into his boots. “Oh, I always do. See ya.”   
  
John heard the apartment door open, and then shut behind Dean. He glanced at his own watch, sighed then glanced down the hall at the closed bedroom door. He sighed again, and then took a sip of his coffee. “Sammy.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam waited until he heard John call out goodbye to him, then sat up in the bed. He looked around then slowly up at the ceiling. He stood up and walked into the bathroom. After relieving himself, he went to the sink to wash his hands. As he did, Sam looked in the mirror, the dark circles under his eyes evident. He hadn’t had much sleep since a few days before, the same nightmare waking him every time. This was the first time Dean had woken up with him though.  
  
He sighed and turned off the tap. He dried his hands on his t-shirt, and then opened the other door in the bathroom, to the shower. He reached into the shower, and turned on the water, waiting till it got warm before he pulled off his shirt, and pushed down his boxers. He climbed into the tub carefully and pulled the curtain closed behind him. Sam just stood there, under the beating of the water, hair in his eyes, taking deep breaths. “Just a nightmare,” Sam said softly, trying to convince himself. Too bad he didn’t buy it.   
  
Tears sprung and stung his eyes, and he wiped at them furiously. “Just a nightmare,” he said again, “a nightmare.” He tried to bite back his sob, but it came out anyway, sounding broken. He leaned his head against the tiled wall and began to cry, the tears disappearing into the warm water from the shower. He sniffled, and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop his shaking. His sobs kept coming, and he felt his legs going weak. He slid down the wall, to the floor of the shower, his knees to his chest, his head on his knees. He wrapped his arms around his legs, and continued to cry.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean went through the day in a daze, moving slowly, barely talking. He was afraid that if he spoke, if he opened his mouth, all that would come out would be his cries.   
  
Bob noticed something was off, Dean wasn’t singing along to the Blue Oyster Cult he had chose to play that day, he wasn’t smiling at the pretty girls that came in. He had even stopped calling him ‘sir’. But he knew better than to ask, and let Dean deal with it, whatever it was, on his own. As long as Dean wasn’t snapping at the customers, and kept doing his job, it wasn’t his problem.  
  
John had considered calling in sick, or taking a personal day. Stay home with Sammy, or maybe take Friday and probably Monday off too and drive to Lawrence, go to Mary’s grave, and his parent’s, but he had told-- no, _promised_ \-- that he wouldn’t leave, and he wasn’t sure that if he did leave, he’d be able to come back.  
  
So he went to work, as usual, did the usual. He smiled along with his work buddies, talked to them all as usual. But he couldn’t take his mind off Sam at home.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean sighed as he walked into the apartment at around nine, not seeing Sam in sight. Of course, he hadn’t really expected to. He kicked off his boots then walked over to the couch, flopping down. He looked over at John, who was eating a late supper at the table. “Where is he?”  
  
“The bedroom,” John answered, flipping the page in his newspaper. “He hasn’t come out since I’ve been home. And he didn’t come out this morning either, must’ve waited until I left.”  
  
“If he came out at all,” Dean sighed again then pushed himself up, walking over to his father, sitting down with him. “How … how are you holding up?”  
  
John looked up at Dean then shrugged. “I’ve had twenty-three years to deal with this, Dean. It’s still fresh in Sammy. It still hurts.”  
  
“It still hurts you too though, doesn’t it?” Dean asked carefully, not quite sure how far he could go with his father on this subject.  
  
“Yeah, it does,” John nodded. “It always will. I miss your mother, but I’ve-- I’ve accepted it. It’s only been a year for him, and when it comes to something like this, a year isn’t very long.”  
  
Dean nodded understandingly. He leaned back in his chair, and began fiddling with the edge of his place mat. “Sometimes, I-- I don’t remember her very well, but I miss Mom a lot, you know? She’s still my mom.”  
  
“I know, Dean,” John said softly. “God, how I wish she could’ve seen you two grow up. I just wish that.”  
  
“Me too,” Dean agreed. “I wish I could talk to her again. She-- she didn’t say anything in Lawrence. Well, she spoke, but nothing life-changing or anything. I want her back.” He sighed and glanced down the hallway, before dropping his head. “I love him, but right now … I wish Jess was still here too. I’d be willing to give him up to see him happy again.”  
  
“Maybe you should bring him some food,” John said, gesturing to the plate of spaghetti in front of him, “Might help.”  
  
Dean nodded, walked over to the stove and filled a plate. He grabbed a fork, and poured a glass of water, then made his way down the hall. He awkwardly opened the door, and pushed it open with his foot. The sight he saw surprised him. The mattress had been moved to the middle of the room, and there was a large salt circle around it. Sam was huddled in the middle, head on his knees. Dean cleared his throat, and ignored it, “Thought you might be hungry.”  
  
Sam just looked over at him blankly then swallowed hard. “I’m fine,” he said softly, his voice rough.   
  
Dean nodded, then took a few more steps, careful not to disturb the salt circle, and set the plate and glass down within Sam’s reach, then stepped back. “I won’t bother you anymore then, I guess.” He turned quickly and was almost at the door before he felt Sam’s hand, grasping at his.  
  
“Don’t leave,” Sam pleaded.  
  
Dean turned and looked down at Sam in surprise, he was on his knees, looking up at him, eyes wide, still in the salt circle. “Sam?”  
  
“Don’t go,” Sam said softly. “Please. _Please_.”  
  
“Of course,” Dean assured him, and walked over to the mattress. He sat down then watched as Sam crawled over to him, sitting on the mattress beside him. “How are you feeling?”  
  
Sam sighed and lay down on his side, his head on Dean’s thigh. “I’m sorry about this morning.”  
  
“No, don’t be,” Dean said, running his fingers through Sam’s hair. “It’s okay, I understand.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No, you don’t. You don’t.”  
  
“Then explain it to me,” Dean said, leaning back on the mattress, propped up by his hands. “Tell me.”  
  
“My nightmare,” Sam said quietly. “It wasn’t the first one I’ve had.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Dean asked.  
  
“Two days before Halloween, I dreamt that you were on the ceiling,” Sam began. “I woke up, and just, I kept quiet, I didn’t want to scare you. I thought-- I hoped, that it was just a nightmare. But then it happened again the next night too … and the night after.”  
  
“Sammy,” Dean said softly, a little shocked. “That doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a nightmare.”  
  
Sam pushed himself up, and shook his head. “It’s not. I thought it was just a nightmare with Jess too, and-- and…well you know what happened. I can’t lose you, Dean, I _won’t_.”  
  
“You’re not going to,” Dean assured him, looking him in the eyes. “It’s not coming after me.”  
  
“You don’t know that!” Sam snapped, before dropping his head down, tears began to run off his face. “You don’t know that. Dean, it’s happened before. I saw it; I saw it before it came for Jessica. And now, I see it coming for you, too.”  
  
Dean pulled Sam to him, pulling him almost all the way on his lap, cradling him. He pressed a kiss to his temple, and began rocking him back and forth. “Sam, there hasn’t been any electrical problems. Remember? Remember Dad said that when it comes, it’s like an electrical storm is coming?”  
  
Sam shook his head, and buried his face in Dean’s neck, “Doesn’t matter. It’s coming for you, I know it. I know it now; I know when it’s true. I should’ve told you, I should’ve, but I didn’t know how.” He began crying harder, clutching at Dean’s shirt. Suddenly, the closet door started shaking as Sam’s cries strengthened.   
  
Dean’s eyes shot up to the closet, then back down at Sam. “Sam, Sam, you have to calm down. The dresser was bad enough; we don’t need the closet door flying off.”  
  
Sam started taking deep breaths, trying to steady himself. “I-- I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I had to bring you into this. I never should’ve gone with you after Jess, you’d still be safe. You’d still be safe.”  
  
“I _am_ safe, Sammy,” Dean promised him. “I am. You’ll see. That demon isn’t coming for me.”  
  
Sam sighed then lifted his eyes, red and brimming with tears. “You can’t promise me that.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “No, you’re right, I can’t. But I have a feeling about this. And I’m telling you, I’m going to be alive tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. No way I’m leaving you now, Sam, not after everything we’ve been through.”  
  
“First Mom, then Jess, now you,” Sam said, ignoring Dean’s statement. “Dad will be next. He should get out of here will he can. It’s too late for you.”  
  
“Don’t talk like that!” Dean said sternly, grabbing Sam’s shoulders. “It’s _not_ too late for me! I’m going to be fine, Sammy. Listen to me. I’m going to be fine.”  
  
“The visions--” Sam began.  
  
Dean shook his head. “No, the nightmares,” he corrected. “They’re just nightmares. Sometimes, they’re just nightmares. I’m not leaving you, believe me.”  
  
“You don’t get a say,” Sam said softly, shaking his head.   
  
“Sam!” Dean snapped, getting angry with his brother, “Stop. Just-- just _stop_. I am  </i>not</i> going to die. Sam, you need to listen to me. You need to calm down.” He sighed then glanced down at the plate of food he’d brought in. He reached over, and grabbed the plate, setting it on Sam’s lap, then reached and grabbed the glass of water. “You’re eating this.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”  
  
“Sam, if you love me, you’ll eat this,” Dean commanded. “Please, I don’t like seeing you like this.”  
  
Sam nodded slowly and picked up the fork, his hand shaking. He took the glass of water from Dean and held it in his other hand, taking a sip.  
  
“I’ll hold that,” Dean said softly, taking the water from Sam.  
  
Sam spun his fork, the spaghetti wrapping around the metal. He brought the fork up to his mouth, and opened his mouth slightly. He looked down at the floor as he chewed, his tears drying on his face. He swallowed hard then reached up for the glass again.  
  
“Here ya go,” Dean said softly, holding the glass up to Sam’s mouth.   
  
Sam only took a couple more bites before he set the plate down on the floor, the fork clattering. “Just don’t leave me alone tonight.”  
  
“Never,” Dean said quietly, bringing Sam in for a hug. “Not tonight, not ever.” He brushed Sam’s hair away, and pressed a wet kiss to his forehead. “Mind if I finish the spaghetti?”  
  
Sam shook his head then sat back as Dean grabbed the plate, setting it on his lap. He wrapped his arms around his legs, drawing them up to his chest, and he watched Dean eat, never taking his eyes off him. “I don’t feel well,” he said softly, rubbing his stomach.  
  
Dean dropped his fork then pressed his hand to Sam’s forehead. “I don’t think you’re sick again. Maybe it’s just nerves.” He took another bite of the spaghetti and set the plate down on the floor. “Are you okay?”  
  
Sam swallowed hard then shook his head. “I’m gonna be sick.” He jumped up off the mattress and ran out of the circle into the bathroom, pushing the door half way closed behind him before dropping on his knees in front of the toilet. He retched for what seemed like forever; after the spaghetti was gone, it was dry heaving, cramping his stomach. Sam sat back on his heels, taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. His stomach lurched again and he sat back up, face in the toilet.  
  
Dean didn’t know what to do. Of course, he wanted to be there for Sam, especially tonight, when he was so scared, but he wasn’t sure Sam would want him to leave the salt circle. Of course, for a demon so strong, salt probably wouldn’t work, but it made Sam feel better. He sighed, sat back, taking a drink of the water. He looked around the room, slightly paranoid after all Sam had said. He smiled to himself, and then shook his head. “There’s nothing here.”  
  
Sam splashed water on his face, taking deep breaths. His stomach had calmed down somewhat, but it still hurt from the retching. He sighed then dried his face on the hand towel. He walked to the door, and set his hand on the knob. Then, it hit him. He had left Dean alone. “No,” Sam said in disbelief, shaking his head. He gulped, and opened the door slowly, praying. He closed his eyes, afraid of what he would see. He stepped into the bedroom, body shaking as he stepped towards the mattress.  
  
“Sam?” Dean asked.  
  
Sam sighed, then opened his eyes. “You’re still here.” He couldn’t help the smile that graced his features. He stepped back inside the circle and dropped down on the mattress, cupping Dean’s face before pulling him in for a kiss. “You’re still alive.”  
  
Dean smiled then reached up to stroke Sam’s cheek with the pads of his fingers. “Sam, you were out of the room for barely five minutes. Stop worrying, please. We’re going to make it to tomorrow, I promise.”  
  
Sam nodded then turned his head, kissing the palms of Dean’s hand. “I love you.”  
  
“I know,” Dean said. “I love you too.” He moved up on the mattress, and lay down, patting the spot beside him. “Let’s get to sleep, okay?”  
  
Sam looked around the room, then up to the ceiling, and then nodded. “Okay.” He lay down beside Dean, linking their fingers. “I’m not letting you go.”  
  
Dean brought their hands up to his mouth, kissing Sam’s hand. “Good. I need you here to protect me.” He settled onto the pillows, and looked Sam in the eyes. “If I do die though Sammy, I want-- I want you to know how happy you made me.”  
  
Sam bit his lip then snuggled into Dean, trying not to cry again. They were both asleep within minutes.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
John yawned and turned off the television. Dean had never come back out of the room, so John took that as a good thing. He went to the bathroom, brushing his teeth and relieving himself, before he made his way out to the door, making sure it was locked. He turned off all the lights save for the hallway’s, then made his way down to the bedrooms. As he was about to go into his own room, he turned slightly, then pushed open the door to the master bedroom. He sighed when he saw the salt circle, and then smiled when he saw the two of them asleep together. He stood there for a few moments longer, before closing the door and going into his own room. John climbed under the covers, and fell asleep to the dream of Mary still alive.  
  
Out in the hallway, the light began to flicker.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
When Sam awoke the next morning, the sunlight was shining in through the window. He sighed, then sat up, looking around. Dean was at his side, curled up, murmuring in his sleep. Sam smiled, then leaned down and gave Dean a quick kiss. He walked out into the hallway and saw John’s door slightly ajar. Sam walked the few feet out of the hall to see where John was. “Dad?” he asked. Not in the living room or kitchen. He should’ve been up by now, or else he’d be late for work. “Dad?” He walked back down the hall to the bedrooms then knocked on John’s door. “Dad, you have to get up.” No answer. Sam pushed open the door, to see the room empty. Sam leaned against the doorframe, slightly confused. John should’ve been up, but it wasn’t time for him to be gone yet.  
  
Sam stepped into John’s room then looked around. His bed had been slept in, but John was nowhere to be found. “Dad?” Sam asked quietly, scared and nervous. “Dad?” He took a deep breath, and looked up at the ceiling.  
  
Empty. The ceiling was empty. Sam’s eyes filled with confusion. He dropped his head back down then looked around. “Where is he?” Sam asked himself. He walked back out of the bedroom, and ran out into the living room. He wasn’t there. He wasn’t at the table, and he wasn’t in the kitchen. “Dad?” he called out, as if there was some other place in the apartment John could be. Actually, there was. “The bathroom,” Sam said, going to knock on the door. “Dad, are you in there?”  
  
There was the sound of footsteps behind the door, and then it opened. “I know, I know. I’m a little late. Slept in, sorry. What’s going on?” John asked, toothbrush in hand.  
  
Sam shook his head then bit his lip. “N-- nothing. I just … didn’t know where you were. I didn’t mean to bother you.”  
  
John nodded, and then studied Sam, his obvious nervousness. “You okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam answered. “Everything’s okay. I’m-- I’m going back to bed, I guess. Be careful at work.” He turned and took about a step before he felt John’s hand on his shoulder. “Yeah?”  
  
“I’m glad you and Dean are okay,” John said softly. “You weren’t the only one scared yesterday, okay Sam?”  
  
Sam nodded slowly. “Okay. I’m glad you’re okay too, Dad.” He sighed and took a step forward, pulling John in for an awkward hug. “I’m really glad.”   
  
John patted Sam’s back then pulled away. “You should get back to bed. It’s still pretty early.” He gave a slight smile and walked back into the bathroom.  
  
Sam stood there for a few moments longer, still overjoyed that John had lived, that Dean had lived, that _he_ had lived. He smiled brightly, before making his way back down to the bedroom. He pushed open the door, and walked quietly over to the mattress, slipping in under the covers.  
  
Dean stirred, and rolled over onto his side, facing Sam. He yawned, and then his eyes flickered open. “Hey.”  
  
Sam smiled, then cuddled in closer to Dean, one hand cradled between them, the other under the covers, resting on Dean’s hip. “Dad’s okay.”  
  
Dean nodded sleepily, before opening his eyes wide. “There was doubt?”  
  
Sam shrugged, and began rubbing Dean’s hip, needing to touch him. “Yeah, a little. But it’s okay now, _I’m_ okay now.”  
  
“No more freaking out?” Dean asked. “No more salt circles?”  
  
“No more freaking out, no more salt circles,” Sam affirmed. He waited a moment, before speaking again. “At least until next year.” He smiled then gave Dean a quick kiss. “I love this.”  
  
“What?” Dean asked, shifting under the sheets, propping his head up.  
  
“Just getting to be this close to you, all the time,” Sam answered. “I get to kiss you whenever I want.” He gave Dean another kiss, this one slower, sweeter, deeper than the first. “Get to touch you whenever I want.” He reached up to stroke Dean’s cheek. “Don’t have to hide anymore.”  
  
Dean smiled and pressed his cheek to Sam’s hand. “I like that you can touch me whenever you want. Definitely works out for both of us.” They kissed again, before Dean broke away, looking Sam in the eyes. “I should probably get dressed.” He rolled away and stood up, going to the closet. “You actually gonna leave the room today?” he asked, grabbing a shirt.  
  
“Promise,” Sam said. He watched as Dean walked into the bathroom, and went to the other door. “Careful, Dad might be--”  
  
Dean yelled, and then ran back into the bedroom. “How-- wha-- oh my _god_! I just saw … our father. Naked.”  
  
“In the shower,” Sam finished. “Well Dean, how was it?”  
  
Dean just stared at Sam, his jaw dropped, his eyes wide. “I-- I’m going to go get some coffee. I’ll check in before I go.” He walked slowly to the door, and left the room in a daze.  
  
“Christ,” Sam muttered, trying not to laugh.


	24. Chapter 24

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 24/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** The Winchesters go out for a Thanksgiving dinner; Sam and Dean go on their first date to the movies  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

“You’re doing it wrong,” Sam said, coming up behind Dean. He grabbed onto his shoulders and turned him around, batting Dean’s hands away from his tie. “You do realize that I taught you how to do this already?”  
  
Dean nodded, his eyes down, watching Sam’s long fingers tie his tie. “I like it when you do it. Makes you seem all sexy.”  
  
Sam snorted then adjusted the tie, pulling it straight. “There. Handsome as ever.” He gave Dean a quick kiss. “Alright, now come on, or else we’re going to be late.” He grabbed onto Dean’s arm and led him out of the bedroom, shutting the light off behind them. “You’re going to button that, right?” he asked, glancing back at Dean’s jacket.  
  
Dean glanced down at himself. “Seriously? I have to button it?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes. Dad, are you coming?” he called.  
  
John came walking down the hall, tying his tie quickly. “Yeah, sorry. Couldn’t find my shoes. Are you sure you guys don’t want to do this alone? I mean, it’s Thanksgiving … it could’ve been romantic.”  
  
Sam watched Dean, making sure he buttoned his jacket, before looking over at his father. “Dad, it’s Thanksgiving, not Valentine’s Day. It’s a family dinner and you’re family. I actually still can’t believe we’re going out for dinner.”  
  
“Neither can I,” Dean muttered. “I hate suits. I only wear them when I need to and honestly, this is not one of those times.”  
  
“Shut up,” Sam said. “Now can we go? If we’re late, they won’t hold our table.” He opened up the apartment door and walked out into the hall, waiting for Dean and John.   
  
Dean glanced at John then back at Sam and somewhere in that, John got a message and he began walking faster, leaving Sam and Dean alone a few feet behind him. Dean linked fingers with Sam and walked slower, slowing Sam down also. “Sam, why are you so nervous?”  
  
“I’m not nervous!” Sam snapped, fiddling with his tie. “God, I am _not_ nervous. Why, do I seem nervous?”  
  
Dean just stared at Sam, jaw slightly open. “Uh…yeah. Sammy, I think you need to calm down. It’s just dinner. At a restaurant. We have been to restaurants before, you know.”  
  
Sam nodded and his hair flew into his eyes. “I know, I know. It’s just, it’s Thanksgiving. When was the last time we ate together, all three of us, on Thanksgiving?”  
  
Dean reached up and fixed Sam’s hair, pushing his bangs over a bit. “Sam, really, it’s just a dinner. Are you going to be fidgeting the whole time? ‘Cause we can stay home if you’re going to have a meltdown.”  
  
“I’ll be fine,” Sam assured him. “I just…I don’t know. I missed having Thanksgiving dinner with you guys, when I was at Stanford. Even though we never really did anything big, it was still a family dinner. No hunting, no fighting. It was nice.”  
  
Dean tilted his head up and gave Sam a kiss on the cheek, smiling up at him. “Next year, there’ll be another member of the family.” He patted Sam’s stomach gently. “You gonna freak out next year too?”  
  
Sam nodded. “I’m sorry. I know, I know it’s just Thanksgiving. I know. I’ll try not to have a seizure or something at the restaurant.” He sighed. “I _still_ can’t believe we’re going to a restaurant. Are you sure it’s not too expensive? I don’t want to make you and Dad pay so much, just ‘cause we don’t know how to cook.” They stopped at the car then Sam looked inside. “How are we going to do this?”  
  
“We’re in the back,” Dean told him, opening the driver’s side backdoor for him. “Dad’s our chauffer for tonight.”  
  
“Didn’t think it would be appropriate to show up in a big, black truck,” John smiled back at them, waiting until they had their seatbelts on, before he pulled out of the parking spot. “You know, it being a classy restaurant and all.”  
  
Sam shifted uncomfortable in his seat then saw Dean out of the corner of his eye, pulling on his tie. And now, his jacket was unbuttoned. “Dean! Come _on_. Button your damn jacket.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, but buttoned the jacket up anyway. “Come on, Dean, button your damn jacket,” he mocked in a high pitch voice.  
  
“Shut up,” Sam muttered, leaning his head against the window.  
  
“Do I have to turn this car around?” John asked, adjusting the rear view mirror, only half-joking. “God, what are you, twelve?”  
  
“That would make you eight, Sammy,” Dean said, a smirk on his face.  
  
“Shut up,” Sam said again, blindly smacking Dean in the chest. “God, you’re so annoying. See, this is why we never go out.”  
  
“Shut up,” Dean said back, playing with the end of his tie, seemingly fascinated with the pattern.   
  
“Seriously,” John began. “Do I have to turn this car around?”  
  
Sam lifted his head and shook it in a negative. “No, I’m fine.”  
  
“Dean?” John asked, glancing back at the older sibling. “Are you going to be okay?”  
  
“Yeah, whatever,” Dean said flatly, his head lolling to one side. He sighed then unbuckled his seat belt, sliding on the seat to press against Sam’s side. He set his chin on Sam’s shoulder, looking up at him. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Sam turned to Dean, looking down at him. “Yeah, I know.” He went back to looking out the window, watching the city go by. “Me too. Just keep your jacket buttoned, okay?”  
  
Dean nodded. “I promise. I’ll look nice for our date.”  
  
“It’s not a date, Dean,” Sam reminded him. “Dad is coming with us. It’s a family dinner. That’s it.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes then sat back against the seat. “Party pooper. Sammy, how come we never date?”  
  
Sam sighed. “I don’t know, Dean. Because we live together? Because we’ve _always_ lived together? We don’t need to date.”  
  
“What do you think, Dad?” Dean asked, leaning forward, his head peeking at John from between the two front seats. “Should Sammy and I go on a date?”  
  
John glanced in the rear view mirror, seeing Sam trying not to laugh. “Uh, I don’t think I can have a say, Dean. I’m biased.”  
  
“What do you mean, Dad?” Dean asked, eyes filling with confusion. “How are you biased?” Sam began laughing from the back seat and Dean just gave him a glare.  
  
“Um, well,” John began, trying to think of a nice way to put it. “I guess I’d prefer that my sons didn’t date at all.”  
  
“Well, duh Dad,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. “But that’s obviously not an option. Don’t you think Sam and I should go out sometime? A movie or something?”  
  
John came to a stop a at red light and glanced back at his sons. “Dean, Sam is right there. If you want to go to a movie with him, just ask him. I can’t say yes for him.”  
  
Dean sighed then sat back in his seat, glancing at Sam. “What do you say?”  
  
Sam stopped laughing and cleared his throat. “What do I say to _what_ , exactly?”  
  
“Oh come on, Sam, don’t make me say it,” Dean whined.   
  
“If you want to go out with me, you have to ask,” Sam told him. “I’m not that easy, Dean.”  
  
“You, me, new James Bond movie?” Dean asked. “Tomorrow night?”  
  
Sam sighed and pretended to think about it for a minute. “Oh, I don’t know Dean. Tomorrow…I’m going out with my _other_ boyfriend tomorrow night. Sorry.”  
  
“Sam!”  
  
“Dear god, Sam, just say yes,” John said from the front seat. “He’ll never give it up, if you don’t.”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Sam said finally. “We can go to the movies tomorrow night. You’re paying, I assume. In case you didn’t know, I don’t have a job.”  
  
“Yeah, I’m paying,” Dean muttered. “Don’t I always?”  
  
“We’re here!” John said loudly, trying to keep the money conversation from happening. He remembered what happened last time. “Can we stay civil for one dinner?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Sam and Dean replied together.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“I should’ve worn bigger pants,” Dean said, leaning back in his seat. “God, I am stuffed.”  
  
“Dean, shh,” Sam said quietly. “Not everyone here needs to know about the size of your pants.”  
  
Dean smiled then leaned over to Sam’s ear, breath warm, making Sam shiver. “What about the size of what’s _in_ my pants?”  
  
Sam snorted, nearly choking on his glass of water. He pulled away from Dean, his eyebrow raised. “I’ve seen it. It ain’t that great.”  
  
“Christ,” John muttered, taking a sip of his water. “Can we not talk about this now? Please and thank you. Now, are we getting dessert? And please, no more comments about your pants, or what’s in your pants, or anything, okay Dean?”  
  
“I want something,” Sam answered. “I want cake. Ooh, I want cheesecake. I love cheesecake. Can I get cheesecake?”  
  
Dean tried not to laugh at Sam’s excitement for the cheesecake. “Yes, Sammy, you can get cheesecake. We may as well all get some, I guess.”   
  
As John gave the cheesecake order to their water, Sam leaned over to Dean. “I thought you were stuffed. God, you’re not going to like, throw up or something, are you?”  
  
Dean took a drink of his water and shook his head. “Sammy, I’m gonna be fine. I’ve got an iron stomach, I can handle a little piece of cheesecake.”  
  
“While we’re waiting, I’m going to go use the washroom,” John said, pushing his chair back.  
  
“Thank you for doing up your jacket,” Sam said softly, once John was out of sight.  
  
Dean smiled up at him. “It meant a lot to you, didn’t it? Me looking nice?”  
  
Sam shrugged and looked at the floor, a little embarrassed. “I don’t know. I just-- I just wanted you to button your jacket. You look much better for it.”  
  
“I keep telling you Sam, it’s just a family dinner,” Dean told him. “Fancy Thanksgiving dinner or no Thanksgiving dinner, it’s just us three. Now, if Dad had had a date or something, I can see you wanting my to look good.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Dad, with a date? Yeah, right. That’ll happen sometime soon.”  
  
“You don’t know,” Dean said. “Maybe he’s got a girl on the side.” He nudged Sam in the ribs, a grin on his face. “Maybe a new step-mommy.”  
  
“You’ve seen too many pornos,” Sam said, trying not to smile. “If and that’s a big if there, Dean, Dad did ever date, it wouldn’t be some yummy mommy for you to hit on. Besides, I don’t want him to date anybody.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Why not?”  
  
“Oh come on, you’re the mama’s boy, you can’t figure this one out?” Sam asked. “He’s married to Mom. He’s not going to date anyone else.”  
  
“You really think that man has gone twenty three years without sex?” Dean asked. “Wow. I don’t know, Sam. That’s a really long time.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “I just don’t think he would, okay? I mean, we can ask him when he gets back, if you want.”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Hell no. Dad … well, I don’t think we need to know about his sex life. Or lack there of.” He went to say something else, but closed his mouth when John walked back over to their table.  
  
Just as John was sitting down, the waiter walked over, a tray in his hand, with their pieces of cheesecake on it. “Ah, thank you,” John said, nodding at the waiter as he passed out the smaller plates.  
  
Sam smiled, licking his lips. “Looks delicious.” He got his fork and got a tiny piece, bringing it to his mouth. “Oh my god,” he moaned, eyes closing in delight. “This is so _good_. Dean, take a bite. It’s so good.” He moaned again, licking his fork completely clean.  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Okay, calm down over there Mister Spontaneous Orgasm. I’m just … eyeing it, deciding how to tackle it.”  
  
“In other words, he _can’t_ handle a little piece of cheesecake,” John said, a smile on his face. He took a bite of his own. “Maybe you _should’ve_ worn bigger pants.”  
  
Sam chuckled then looked down at Dean, who was staring at the cheesecake in front of him, an almost sad look in his eyes. “Oh, poor baby.” He gave Dean a kiss on the top of his head then ruffled his hair. “We’ll get you a doggie bag.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
John tried not to laugh and barely managed to keep his beer in his mouth. “Sam, you wanna give him his Ritalin or something?”  
  
Sam looked up from the newspaper and cocked his head to one side. “What exactly is he doing?”  
  
“Bond, James Bond,” Dean said to himself in the living room. “Shaken, not stirred.”  
  
John snorted then shook his head. “Uh, a horrible impression of James Bond is my guess.”  
  
“Pussy, Pussy Galore,” Dean continued on.  
  
“Holy Christ,” Sam muttered. “Dean. Dean! Would you stop that? God. Do _not_ make me change my mind. I know you don’t want to go see that penguin movie.”  
  
“When are we leaving?” Dean asked, jumping up from the couch. “Doesn’t it start soon? I wanna go, Sammy, I want good seats.”  
  
Sam dropped his head onto the table, groaning. “Dean, we’ll leave in a couple minutes. Christ. Just calm down, for one second.” He lifted his head and looked over at John. “Where did you go wrong with him?”  
  
John shrugged. “God. I don’t even know anymore.”  
  
Sam chuckled then pushed himself up. “Come on, Dean. Let’s go.” He grabbed his jacket and turned back to John, mouthing the words ‘save me’.  
  
John laughed then gave them a wave. “Do I need to give you two curfews?”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, Sam’s, let’s go! We even have time to make out in the car beforehand.”  
  
“Okay, you can leave now,” John said, smiling. “Have fun.”  
  
“Can you believe this is our first _real_ date?” Dean asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes then reached over to the radio, changing the station. “Dean, um, I don’t know how to break this to you, but we’ve had sex. I’m pregnant with your baby. First date, really not that big of a deal.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Hey, you get your panties in a twist about a family dinner, I can get my stylish boxer-briefs in one for our first date. To each his own.”  
  
Sam smiled, sliding down in his seat, knees propped up against the dashboard. “It is pretty big I guess. Nobody knows we’re brothers. No one can judge us. Well, they can, but it won’t be as bad.”  
  
“Keep your chin up, Sammy,” Dean told him, reaching over to pat his knee. “That’s what James would do.”  
  
“Tell me you’re talking about Pastor Jim and _not_ James Bond, a fictional character from books and movies.” Sam said, sitting up straight. “Please, tell me.”  
  
“Seriously,” Dean said. “If James Bond was gay, he wouldn’t be ashamed.”  
  
“I’m _not_ ashamed,” Sam pointed out. “I’m also not gay. Neither are you.”  
  
“We’re not fruits,” Dean agreed. “We just hang out in the orchard.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh, Christ. Dean, we’re not gay. I’m not gay, you’re not gay. We don’t like men. We just … like each other, is all.”  
  
“Okay, fine, whatever,” Dean said. “We’re not gay. But nobody out there knows it. So head high, okay?”  
  
“We have been in public before you know,” Sam reminded him, getting increasingly annoyed with this conversation. “There are people in this world that know we’re together. Just-- let’s just drop it, okay?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Fine by me. Now, where’s the theatre again?”  
  
“Go down here,” Sam said, pointing down a road to the left. “I still can’t believe I’m going to a James Bond movie. God. You’re changing me, Dean. I would’ve never gone to see this thing with Jess.”  
  
Dean inwardly cringed at the mention of Jess, but flashed a small smile anyway. “Lemme guess, she was a chick flick … chick.”  
  
Sam shrugged, not noticing how uncomfortable Dean was from the topic of Jess. “Yeah, I guess. She was a pretty girly girl. I don’t know. We didn’t really go to movies all that much anyway, we had a lot of homework to do.”  
  
Dean nodded then pulled into the parking lot of the large movie theatre. “Just ‘cause she liked chick flicks, doesn’t mean you couldn’t make her go see a guy movie.” He turned off the ignition and pocketed the keys, climbing out.   
  
Sam climbed out of the car, closing the door behind him. He walked to the other side of the car, catching up to Dean. “You love someone, you don’t have to make them go to a movie with them.”  
  
Dean stopped walking, a thoughtful look on his face. “But-- but you just said that you would’ve never gone to see this movie.”  
  
Sam stopped walking ahead of him and turned around. “I probably wouldn’t’ve. So?”  
  
“So, does that mean I’m making you?” Dean asked, still not walking again.   
  
Sam sighed then walked over to Dean. He grabbed Dean’s arm, pulling his hand out of his pocket. Linking fingers with him, he started walking, taking Dean with him. “I love you. Which means that you don’t have to make me come with you. Dean, believe me, if I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be. Now come on, don’t want to miss the beginning.”  
  
“I want popcorn,” Dean said to Sam as they walked by a group of guys around Sam’s age, hanging out by the entrance.  
  
Sam smiled. “Whatever. You’re paying.”  
  
The guys outside the entrance began laughing loudly and Dean glanced back to see one of them pointing at them.  
  
“Hey, fags!” one of them called out.  
  
Dean swallowed hard and tried to ignore them. He didn’t want to embarrass Sam by kicking all of their asses. Sam glanced back at them then faced forward again.  
  
“So, which one of you is the girl?” another one asked. The guys pushed themselves off the wall and walked over to Sam and Dean, who were walking into the theatre. “Hey! I’m talking to you.”  
  
Sam’s fingers tightened in Dean’s and he dropped his head. “Ignore them,” he said softly.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Dean said. “I plan on it.” He led Sam over to the counter and bought their tickets. “Forget the popcorn, let’s just go into the theatre.”  
  
Sam sighed then shook his head. “I’m fine, Dean. Come on, let’s get your food.” Sam took a deep breath, still holding onto Dean’s hand, even as they waited in the line for popcorn.   
  
“You okay?” Dean asked, glancing up at Sam.   
  
Sam nodded. “Of course I am. We could kick all their asses.” He smiled. “I’m fine.”  
  
Dean sighed then moved up in the line. Suddenly, he felt a hand against his back, before it shoved him. Dean didn’t fall, just jerked, bumping into the person in front of them. “Sorry.” He turned around, to face whoever pushed him. One of the guys from outside.  
  
“Faggot,” the guy said, a smirk on his face. “You the pitcher, or the catcher?”  
  
Sam turned around also, towering over the guy. “Both, actually. Got a problem with that?” He glared down at the guy.  
  
The guy was stunned for a moment, looking up at Sam, before looking back down at Dean. “I’ll see you later,” he said, giving Dean a tiny shove. “When your girlfriend’s not around to protect you.” He walked away from them and went back to his group of friends, who were waiting for him by the doors.  
  
Dean snorted then stepped up to the counter, ordering his food. While the girl at the counter was getting it for him, he turned to Sam. “That’s rich. He thinks I need you to protect me.” As he said it, he let his hand slip out of Sam’s.  
  
Sam looked down at where their hands _were_ joined then smiled at Dean. “Yeah. Little does he know…”  
  
Dean paid the girl at the counter then took his popcorn and his soda. Sam grabbed his soda then smiled a thanks to the girl. “They’ll be gone when we get out, anyway.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam reached over, eyes fixated on the screen, to grab a handful of popcorn from the bucket on Dean’s lap.  
  
“I could’ve bought you some, you know,” Dean told him, a harsh whisper.  
  
Sam didn’t answer, just brought his hand to his mouth, eating the popcorn. “Shh.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and sunk down in his seat. Surprisingly, Sam was actually enjoying the movie. Also surprisingly, Dean, was not. He had tried to focus on the movie, but his mind kept going back to the guys outside. Contrary to what Sam probably thought of him, Dean hadn’t been in that many bar fights. Or regular fights and the thought of having to beat up those guys outside left a hard feeling in his gut. Even though he knew he could take them, he didn’t really want to.  
  
_“I knew it was too early to promote you.”  
  
“What I understand, double-ohs have a very short life expectancy.”_  
  
Dean reached over and grasped Sam’s hand in his and brought it up to his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the back of Sam’s hand.   
  
Sam looked over at Dean in surprise, but smiled anyway. “You okay?” he asked softly.  
  
Dean nodded. “Fine. Just wanted to do that.”  
  
Sam smiled again then turned back to the screen.  
  
Dean may not have wanted to hurt those guys outside, but if he had to protect Sam, he would.   
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Where did we park again?” Sam asked as the stepped outside. California or not, it was still the end of November and it was still late at night and the cool air hit him. He tightened his jacket around his body, looking around.  
  
“Over there,” Dean said, nodding towards where the car was. They began walking towards the car and soon, they were out of the light coming from the lights on the theatre. That’s when he heard it. The same laughter that he had heard outside earlier. “Come on, Sam.”  
  
Sam heard it too and resisted the urge to look around. He didn’t really want to know how close they were. “Get out the keys, now.” They began walking quicker, but the laughter just seemed to get louder.  
  
“Well, well, well,” they heard behind them. Sam turned and saw the group of guys walking towards them. “Dean.”  
  
Dean turned around also. “Shit.”  
  
“The fags enjoy their movie?” the guy who had pushed Dean earlier asked.   
  
“I don’t know,” Dean said. “Did you?”  
  
“Dean, please, not now,” Sam said softly, pulling on Dean’s jacket.  
  
“Maybe you should listen to your girlfriend,” the guy said, gesturing to Sam. “He seems like a smart guy.”  
  
“He is,” Dean told them. He handed the keys off to Sam. “Get in the car, Sam.”  
  
Sam glanced down at the keys then at Dean, eyes wide. “Dean, seven to one. I don’t think even _we’re_ that good.”  
  
“Get in the car,” Dean said again, a commanding tone in his voice. “ _Now_.”  
  
“I’m not leaving you out here,” Sam whispered. “Get in with me.”  
  
“Someone has to teach these assholes about name-calling,” Dean said, taking a step toward the other men.  
  
“Dean,” Sam protested. “Please. Let’s just go home.”  
  
“Yeah,” the main guy agreed, nodding his head. “Go home. And fuck your bitch. I bet he likes taking it up the ass, don’t you?” he asked, cocking his head towards Sam.  
  
“Fuck this,” Dean muttered. He sighed then turned back towards the car, before quickly turning back around to face them, punching the main guy in the face. He felt something crack beneath his hand.  
  
“Shit!” the guy yelled.  
  
“Sam, get in the car, now,” Dean said, glancing back at him. “Please. Just get in the car.”  
  
“Dean, no!” Sam said. “You can’t do this.”  
  
“Eric, are you okay?” one of the other six asked him.  
  
Eric dropped down to the parking lot, hands at his face, blood running over. “He broke my fucking _nose_! Kick his ass!”  
  
The other six took a step towards Dean, their hands clenched into fists at their sides.  
  
“Uh-oh,” Dean said softly. “Oh well.” He snapped his head to both sides, cracking his neck. Dean brought his fists up, ready to punch. “Well, come on then.” He punched the next guy that stepped towards him, missing his nose and getting his eye. “Sam, car!” he yelled back in a sing-song voice.  
  
Sam gulped then backed up slowly, getting into the driver’s side of the car.   
  
Dean cracked his knuckles then put his fists back up. “Two down, five to go. Who’s next?”  
  
One guy came rushing at him, ready to tackle him. Dean allowed himself to be knocked down, his leather jacket protecting him from the asphalt. They skidded about a foot, before the guy pushed himself up. Just as he brought his fist down, Dean ducked his head and the guy’s hand hit the ground. “Shit!”   
  
Dean smiled then head butted the guy, pushing him off him. “Okay, not as hard as I thought.” As another one came at him, Dean kicked, but unfortunately missed and the guy grabbed onto his ankle, pulling hard. Dean smacked into the ground and groaned when his head hit the pavement.  
  
“Dean!” Sam yelled. He had his hand on the door handle, but he heard Dean yell for him to stay in the car.   
  
The guy was on Dean in a second, his fists punching Dean’s face. Dean was still stunned from hitting his head on the ground and he couldn’t react. “Giving up?” He grabbed the sides of Dean’s head and lifted it, before smashing it back down into the ground.  
  
Sam wasn’t staying in the car anymore. He opened the door quickly, hitting one guy who wasn’t paying attention. He grabbed the arms off the still shocked guy and kicked out his right knee then his left ankle. He shoved him down to the ground then ran over to Dean, where the guy was still on him. He hooked his arms under the guy’s and pulled him off of Dean. But before he could do anything, the two of the other guys pulled Sam off of him, dragging him to the ground.   
  
One of them pulled Sam to his feet, holding him still while the other kneed him in the groin. Sam groaned and doubled over. Next, the guy’s knee hit his face, breaking his nose. “Please, stop,” he pleaded softly, blood running from his nose. The guys just laughed at Sam and punched him.  
  
The guy Sam had pulled off Dean was back on him, jumping up and down on his ankle, breaking it in only a couple jumps.  
  
“Hey, what’s going on over there?” someone in front of the theatre yelled. “I’m calling the cops!”  
  
“Shit,” a couple of the guys muttered. The two dropped Sam down to the ground and the other stopped jumping on Dean’s ankle. One of them helped Eric up and the guy Dean had punched in the eye was fine on his own.   
  
“Dean,” Sam said weakly, as he pushed himself up began crawling on the pavement towards his brother. He reached out his right hand to Dean’s, but before he could grasp his, a foot stomped down on it. “Fuck!” Sam screamed. But before he could get his hand out of the way, it was stomped on again. Whoever it was, ran off, laughing.  
  
Sam began sobbing and brought hand to his chest. He bit back his tears and continued crawling, his hand cradled to him. He got to Dean’s side, hovering above him. “Dean?” He shook him slightly with his good hand. “Dean?” his tears began to spill over as he saw the blank look in Dean’s eyes. “Dean, please. _Please_ , please wake up.” He leaned down and gave Dean a kiss, the taste of sweat and blood mixed in with their saliva. “Please, please, please.” He brought his knees up to his chest and began rocking back forth, his mouth pressed to his knee, tears running down his face.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he heard behind him.  
  
Sam turned and saw the one guy who actually hadn’t done anything. He just sniffled and began to sob even harder. “The cops are coming.”  
  
“I didn’t--” the guy began, but Sam cut him off.  
  
“I know his name is Eric and there’s a security camera at the theatre,” Sam said, wiping at his face, a mixture of tears and blood coming away on his hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell the cops you didn’t do anything.”  
  
The guy nodded his thanks then pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I’m sorry,” he said again, before he ran off.  
  
Dean’s eyelids fluttered weakly and he made a soft sound in the back of his throat.   
  
“It’s okay,” Sam said, grasping at Dean’s shirt, letting him know he was there. “It’s okay, it’s okay. The cops are coming. It’s okay.” He dropped his head down onto Dean’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”  
  
Dean could just lay there, feeling Sam’s weight on his chest, as his own tears spilled over.


	25. Chapter 25

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 25/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** John shows up at the hospital, and finds out how Sam and Dean are doing  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

 

John rushed into the hospital, going straight to the first desk he could find. “Hi, yeah, um--” he struggled to catch his breath. “My-- Winchester. Sam and Dean were brought in.”  
  
The receptionist looked up at him, blinking wildly, before she understood what he meant. “Oh, um, yes, of course. Sam, he’s in exam room three. But Dean…Dean is in the ICU, I believe.”  
  
“ICU?” John repeated. “Why?”  
  
“I’m not sure, sir,” the receptionist told him. “You’ll have to ask the doctors.”  
  
“Can I see Sam?” John asked, breath finally back.  
  
“Yes,” the receptionist nodded. “Exam room three, just down there, sir. You can ask his doctor about Dean.”  
  
John nodded his thanks, then ran off to exam room three, throwing open the curtains. “Sammy!”  
  
“Dad!” Sam said, looking up at him.   
  
John ran over to the bed Sam was sitting on, and sat down next to him. The second he was down, John pulled Sam into a tight hug. “What the hell happened? What happened? The cops called, said you told them the number, said you two were in the emergency room. What happened, what happened?”  
  
“We were…” Sam began, wiping at his nose. He didn’t know how to tell his father that despite all their years of training, they were, “Beat up,” he finished.  
  
“What?” John asked in surprise. “What are you talking about? Sam, tell me the truth, what happened?”  
  
“He _is_ telling the truth,” the cop in the corner spoke up.  
  
John jumped slightly, he hadn’t even noticed there was anyone else in the room with them. There was also a doctor on the other side of the bed. “They were beat up.”  
  
“Someone at the theatre called it in,” the cop said, nodding. “Seven guys, versus the two.”  
  
“Christ,” John muttered, shaking his head. He had his hand on Sam’s cheek, making his son look at him. He noticed the swelling around Sam’s nose, and the beginnings of a black eye. “Sammy? What happened?”  
  
Sam shook his head, and bit his lips, eyes shining bright with tears. “Don’t make me say it again.”  
  
“Oh, Sammy,” John said softly, letting his hand drift down from Sam’s cheek to his neck, then shoulder, where there was a sling. He looked down, and saw Sam’s hand in a plastic splint, the skin he could see, purple. “Officer, what happened?”  
  
“It was a gay-bashing,” the officer told him. “Sam here, and his boyfriend, your son, Dean. They were attacked by seven men in the theatre parking lot after their movie.”  
  
Sam sniffled, then shook his head. “One of them, they didn’t do anything. He apologized.” He began to cry again, head hanging low, shoulders shaking.   
  
“Shh, it’s okay, Sammy,” John said softly, playing with the ends of Sam’s hair. “It’s okay.” He pulled Sam in again, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, leaning his own head against Sam’s, eyes closed, trying to keep his tears in. “Oh, Sammy.” He swallowed hard, then looked up at the doctor. “What are his injuries?”  
  
“The black eye, and a broken nose,” the doctor said, walking over to John and Sam’s side of the bed. “And his hand, is broken. Out of twenty-seven, at least fifteen of them are damaged. He’s right-handed, yes?”  
  
John nodded slowly, examining what he could see of Sam’s hand. Swollen and purple, everywhere. “He’ll have to relearn everything.”  
  
“Probably with his left hand,” the doctor continued. “He’ll never regain full usage of his right hand.”  
  
Sam’s sobbing got even harder at that, his shoulders shaking even more. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” He lifted his head, eyes bloodshot, nose running. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
John shook his head. “Hey, hey, don’t worry, Sammy, it’ll be fine. It’ll be alright.”  
  
“Wait, I thought--” the cop began. “Sam’s your son too? He said it was a gay-bashing.”  
  
John glanced at Sam, and quickly thought of a lie. The first thing he thought of wasn’t so much a lie, as the truth, with a few pieces left out. “No, no, he’s--” he gulped. “Sam’s not my son.” He took a deep breath, trying not to cry at having to say that. It nearly broke his heart. “His mother died when he was a baby. His father-- his father ran off.”  
  
Sam looked up at John, eyes wide.  
  
“I’m the friend of the family Sam was left with,” John finished. “Raised him ever since, but him and Dean…well, I think you can guess.”  
  
The cop nodded. “We have security tapes from the theatre, and Sam gave us the first name of the ringleader. We’re going to have them in custody soon, I promise.”  
  
“Is he-- is he going to have to testify?” John asked, rubbing Sam’s back, trying to calm down.  
  
“I’m-- I’m not sure,” the cop answered. “He’s the only one who can identify them, but we might be able to get one of them to testify against the others.”  
  
Sam shook his head, and wiped at his nose. “I don’t want to testify.”  
  
“I know, Sammy,” John said softly, pulling Sam in again. “I know. It’ll be okay, I promise. It’ll be okay.”  
  
“They hurt Dean really bad,” Sam mumbled into John’s chest, sniffling. “They hurt him really bad, Dad.”  
  
John began rocking Sam back and forth, like he had when he was a kid, his cheek pressed to Sam’s forehead, holding onto him tightly. “How bad, doctor?”  
  
“Your son is a coma,” the doctor replied. “He got the worst of the attack.”  
  
“He made me get into the car,” Sam explained to John, lifting his head slightly. “Then he took them on.”  
  
“A coma?” John repeated. “Oh my god. But-- is he going to be okay? Is he going to wake up? He has to wake up, right?”  
  
“We’re not entirely sure,” the doctor admitted. “From what Sam told us, and from what was on the pavement…Dean’s head was smashed against the parking lot, and more than once. He has a brain injury. He also has a broken nose, and a broken ankle.”  
  
“How bad is the ankle?” John asked.  
  
The doctor’s tongue came out to wet her lips, and she swallowed. “It’s the same as with Sam’s hand. Dean’s ankle was smashed. If-- when-- if he wakes up, he may need physical therapy to walk again, or he may just walk with a limp. We can’t tell, until he wakes up, which, right now, could be anytime, or not at all.”  
  
“Well, I want to see him,” John said. “I want to see my son.”  
  
“He’s in surgery right now,” the doctor told him. “They’re elevating the dent in his skull, and checking to see how bad the brain injury is. He was non-responsive when they brought him in, and unable to breathe on his own.”  
  
“Christ,” John muttered, still holding onto Sam. “Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck _fuck_! Well, when can I see him? When will he be out?”  
  
“I’m not sure, sir,” the doctor told him. “But you can stay here with Sam, until he’s out, and then you can see Dean.”  
  
“Can I stay the night with Sam?” John asked, not wanting to leave him alone.  
  
The doctor nodded. “Of course. We’re going to transfer him from this exam room into a regular room, we can go there now. I’ll check in on him later.”  
  
John nodded, then stood up, keeping his arms on Sam. “Come on, Sammy, let’s go with the doctor, okay?”  
  
Sam looked up at him, and shook his head. “I wanna go see Dean.”  
  
“Come on, Sammy, we gotta go to your new room, okay? Come on, get up.” John wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist, then lifted him up. “Come on, let’s go.”  
  
Sam leaned his head against John’s shoulder, letting him support his weight. “Then we can see Dean?”  
  
John glanced over at the doctor, who was smiling sympathetically. “Yeah. Yeah, then we can see Dean. I promise.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
John sighed, then checked his watch. “Okay, Sammy, I think it’s time for you to go to bed, okay?”  
  
“But we haven’t seen Dean yet!” Sam protested. “I want to see Dean, I want to make sure he’s okay.”  
  
“Sammy, when the doctors come and tell me it’s okay for us to see him, I’ll wake you up, okay?” John said soothingly, trying to keep Sam calm. “But for now, I think it’s time you got some sleep, okay? It’s pretty late, and you want to be all rested up when we see Dean, don’t you?”  
  
Sam sighed, then nodded, and pulled the sheets on his bed up to his waist, and snuggled into the pillow. “He’s going to be okay, right?”  
  
John nodded, then stood up, and pressed a soft kiss to Sam’s forehead, and ruffled his hair. “Dean is going to be fine. When have you ever known him _not_ to be fine?”  
  
Sam smiled, and nodded, then closed his eyes. “You promise to wake me?” he asked softly, pulling his sheets up a bit further.   
  
“I promise,” John said softly. “And I’m gonna be right here, the whole night, okay?” He sat back down in his chair, then patted Sam’s leg. “You go to sleep, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded, and laid still for a few moments, before shooting up in the bed.  
  
“Sam?” John asked, surprised. “What’s wrong?”  
  
Sam looked at John, eyes wide. “The baby. What about-- what about my baby? What about my baby? The baby.”  
  
John stood up and grabbed onto Sam’s shoulders, and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Sammy, Sammy, shh. Shh. You have to listen to me. No one here can know about the baby, okay? You need to calm down, okay? I’m sure the baby is fine. I’m sure. Did they punch your stomach?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “They really didn’t do anything to my stomach. They just kneed me, and punched me. And my hand…but I think-- I think the baby’s fine.”  
  
“That’s good,” John said softly, running his hands through Sam’s hair. “Now go to sleep, okay? Get rested for the baby, and for Dean.”  
  
Sam nodded, then laid back down. He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes, letting his exhaustion take over.  
  
_“Get in the car, Sam.”  
  
“Dean, seven to one. I don’t think even we’re that good.”  
  
“Go home. And fuck your bitch. I bet he likes taking it up the ass, don’t you?”   
  
The knee in his groin, the knee in his face. The foot on his hand.  
  
“Dean? Dean, please. Please wake up.”_  
  
Sam jolted awake with a loud gasp, grasping at the sheets.  
  
John was awake in an instant, at Sam’s side, grasping at his good hand. “It’s okay, Sammy, I’m right here.”  
  
Sam was panting, trying to catch his breath, eyes blank and staring at the ceiling. “Dad?”  
  
“I’m right here,” John assured him, holding onto Sam’s hand. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It was just a nightmare.”  
  
Sam caught his breath, then looked over at John. “What about Dean?”  
  
John sighed, then sat back in his chair, still holding onto Sam’s hand. “The doctor hasn’t come yet. But she will, and when she does, we can go see him.”  
  
“But I want to see him _now_!” Sam cried, his grip on John’s hand tightening. “Let me see him now!”  
  
“No, Sam, he’s still-- Sam, we can’t see him now,” John said, grabbing onto Sam’s shoulder’s.  
  
“Let me _see him_!” Sam screamed, shaking John off him. “Let go of me!” The bed Sam was on began to shake, and John's eyes opened wide.  
  
“Sam, no, Sammy, Sam, you have to calm down,” John said softly, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shoulder, holding him to his chest. “You have to calm down. Dean’s fine, Dean’s okay. We can see him soon, just not right now, okay? Shh.”  
  
The bed stopped shaking, Sam began to cry, tears staining John’s shirt, his shoulders shuddering. “I want Dean,” he sobbed, clutching at John’s shirt, his broken hand cradled awkwardly between them. “I want Dean.”  
  
“I know,” John said softly, and began rocking him back and forth again, running his fingers through the ends of Sam’s hair. “It’s okay. I want to see him too, but not right now, not yet.”  
  
Sam shook his head, and pulled John closer to him, wrapping his arm around John’s neck, pulling him into him. “I shouldn’t’ve got in the car. If I had got in the car, maybe they would’ve smashed Dean’s head.”  
  
“Sam, Sam, this is _not_ your fault,” John assured him. “Sam, nobody blames you. Nobody blames you for this. I don’t blame you for this. And Dean…Dean isn’t going to blame you either.”  
  
“I should’ve protected him,” Sam continued, paying almost no attention to his father. “And now he’s in a coma.”  
  
John shook his head. “No, no, no, Sammy. Sam, listen to me.” He pulled away from Sam, just enough to look him in the eyes. “Dean is going to be happy. Dean is going to be so happy that you’re okay. That’s all he’ll care about, that you’re okay. You know that. You know that you’re all that matters to him.”  
  
“But-- but what about you?” Sam asked, sniffling his nose. “You matter to him too.”  
  
John smiled, and chuckled softly, pulling Sam back in. “I know, I do. But we matter different ways. I’m his father…you’re the man he’s in love with. It’s different. Now come on, lets get you back to sleep.” He untangled himself from Sam, and gently guided him back to lay down.   
  
Sam sighed, then laid back, turning slightly on his side. “I’m sorry, Dad.”  
  
John sat back down, and sighed. “About what?”  
  
“I’m sorry Dean loves me differently than you,” Sam said softly, his eyes shining brightly in the light coming in from the hall.  
  
John smiled, then reached out and ruffled Sam’s hair. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”  
  
Sam smiled back, and nodded, snuggling into the pillow. “But you know, he’d do what he did for me, for you too.”  
  
John nodded. “Yeah, I know. Now get back to sleep, and when you wake up, I’ll see what we can do about visiting Dean.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam sighed, and sat down in the chair, reaching out with his left hand to grasp Dean’s. “He can hear me, right?”  
  
John shifted by the door, and nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” He pushed himself off the doorframe and walked over to the bed. “Do you want me to go?”   
  
Sam looked up at him, and took a deep breath, thinking about it for a moment. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t want to be alone.”  
  
John nodded. “Okay. I won’t listen, if you want to confess some deep, dark secret to him.”  
  
Sam smiled, then shook his head. “That’s okay.” He turned back to Dean, and smiled sadly. “Hi, Dean. I don’t-- I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can…I love you. I love you so much. I wanted--” his voice cracked, and he sniffled. “Thank you, for taking care of me. But really did, would it have _killed_ you to get in the car?” he chuckled softly, then dropped his head. “I told the cops who did it. Now, I know you don’t like the police, but the officer who took my statement, he was really nice. He reminded me of you. I don’t know if I have to testify or anything or not, but if--” he cleared his throat, “ _when_ you wake up, you might have to too. If you remember anything, from before-- before the movie. When he pushed you.”   
  
Sam stopped talking, as if he was waiting for Dean to reply. He sighed, then brought his thumb up to his mouth, and began nibbling on the end. “I wish you were awake, but I think you probably knew that already. Dad’s here, he’s taking care of me. He’s a good Dad.”  
  
John chuckled softly, and smiled down at his sons.   
  
“I want to be a Dad like him,” Sam continued, glancing up at John. “I think our baby’s okay. So yeah, that’s why you need to wake up, because I am sure as hell not raising this baby by myself.”  
  
John chuckled again, the sat down on the edge of Dean’s bed. “Hey, Dean, it’s me. I uh-- I just want you to wake up, okay? Because we need you to wake up. For me, and for Sammy, and for your baby.” He sighed, then squeezed the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. “Wake up, Dean. Just…just wake up.”  
  
Sam sighed, then leaned forward and set his head on Dean’s stomach, closing his eyes. “I love you.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 26/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** Dean wakes up in the hospital, eleven days after the gay-bashing  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

 

Dean’s eyes fluttered open, the bright white light in the room nearly blinding him. He groaned, and shut his eyes. A few seconds later he tried again, the lights less of a shock this time. He opened his mouth to try and speak, but something wouldn’t let him. Something was in his mouth. Dean cried out, a muffled whimper from the tube down his throat. He couldn’t lift his head either, but he could see John, in a chair, asleep. He cried out again, then reached blindly, hitting John’s leg.   
  
John murmured in his sleep, sliding a bit down in his chair.  
  
Dean hit him again, this time a bit harder.  
  
John’s eyes opened slowly, but he immediately shot forward in his chair, grasping Dean’s hand in his. “Son. Dean. God.” His eyes welled up, and he pulled Dean’s hand to his mouth, giving it a chaste kiss. “Fuck.” He pushed himself up, and then gave Dean a kiss on the forehead, before a couple of his tears spilled over. “You’re awake. You’re awake. Thank god, you’re awake. You have _got_ to stop doing this to me.”  
  
Dean groaned in pain as he tried to lift his head. He brought his hand up to the tube, gesturing that he wanted it out. He whimpered, and his grip tightened in John’s hand.   
  
John’s eyes opened wide in understanding. “I’ll go get a doctor, to get this out of you, okay?”  
  
Dean just stared up at him, eyes blinking wildly.   
  
“Do you understand me?” John asked softly. “I’m just…I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to get the doctor.” He gave Dean another kiss on the forehead, then stood up, and walked out of the room slowly.  
  
Dean immediately felt alone, and scared. He didn’t know where he was, and he didn’t remember what happened. They went to the movies…and that was it. It was all blank until he had just woken up. He closed his eyes, trying to calm down. His father was there, and he was awake, so that _had_ to be a good thing.  
  
“Dean,” the doctor said, walking into the room, followed by John. “Good to see you’re awake. Now, let’s just get that tube out of your mouth, okay? See if we can’t get you talking. Now, I’m going to unhook the tube from the ventilator first, okay? If you have any trouble breathing, I’ll have to hook you back up.”  
  
Dean kept his eyes on his father, not wanting to see what could be his only means of breathing unhooked. He heard the rush of air from the ventilator, knowing it was all on him to breathe now. He struggled to take the first breath, the air hurting his dry throat, but he managed to get as much air as he could with the tube still in his throat.   
  
“Alright, Dean, that’s good, that’s good,” the doctor said soothingly. “Okay, now, on the count of three, I want you to blow all the air out, and I’ll pull out the tube, okay? One. Two. _Three_.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath out, and then the tube was out of his throat. He coughed a couple times, sputtering, but soon got his breath back.  
  
“How does that feel, Dean?” the doctor asked.   
  
Dean nodded gratefully. “Thank--” his voice cracked from the dryness in his throat. “Water?” he asked, his voice scratchy.  
  
“Yes, I have some right here,” the doctor told him, taking the cup from John. “Alright, here you go.”  
  
Dean eagerly gulped the cool water down, his throat thanking him. He cleared his throat, and swallowed hard. “Thank you,” he finally got out. He smiled lightly, then looked to his father. “Dad.”  
  
John was at his side in an instant. “Hey, buddy. Hey. How you feeling? Better?”  
  
“I’ll leave you two alone, but I’ll be back later to see how you’re doing,” the doctor told them, walking out of the room.  
  
Dean looked up at his father, trying to get the words out, but his throat wasn’t working as fast as it should have been. “Sore,” he said eventually. He looked around the room, and finally realized that Sam wasn’t with him. “Sammy?” He tried to sit up, but the sharp pain in the back of his head was too much, and he dropped back down to the bed.   
  
“Shh, it’s okay, calm down,” John said, his hand on Dean’s shoulder, making sure he stayed down. “Sam’s okay, he’s okay. He’s fine.”  
  
“How bad?” Dean asked softly, clutching at John’s hand. “How-- how bad?”  
  
“Broken nose,” John said softly. “Broken hand. Black eye.”  
  
“The--” Dean looked around, making sure that the room was empty, besides them. “The baby?”  
  
“It seems fine,” John answered, sounding grateful.  
  
“Me?” Dean asked, voice full of fear.  
  
John sighed, then looked at him, a sad look in his eyes. “They fractured your skull. Sam says they pounded you against the pavement pretty hard. Hence the coma.”  
  
Dean chuckled softly, before coughing at the scratchy feeling in his throat.  
  
“They broke your ankle too,” John continued. “Your nose.”  
  
“Leave?” Dean asked, trying to stick to short sentences. “See Sammy?”  
  
“I can go get him now, if you want,” John told him. “He’s okay, to be up, and walk around. You can’t leave for awhile though.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath, trying to get over the pain in his head. “Get him? Wanna see him.”  
  
John smiled, and nodded, before standing up. “I’ll be back in a couple minutes. Call for someone, if you need them.” He took a couple steps, before turning back around. “You sure you gonna be fine alone? I don’t want to leave you.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Sammy.”  
  
John chuckled, then walked out of the room.  
  
Dean sighed, then fumbled for the remote for the bed, sitting himself up. He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes.   
  
_Faggot._  
  
Dean would’ve sworn that-- what was his name again? Dean searched his memory, but it seemed to end when they walked out of the theatre-- was right beside him, in the room, speaking to him. Dean’s eyes shot open, and he looked around the room. It was empty, except for him. Of course it was. He took a deep breath, then bit his lip. “Christ,” he muttered. He could feel his eyes filling with tears, which he tried to blink away. “Calm down,” he said to himself, taking deep breaths. “You’re fine. Sam’s fine.” Dean sighed, and looked around the room. He was alone, and he didn’t like it. “Hurry up.” He closed his eyes, and began muttering to himself, “hurry up, hurry up.”  
  
“Dean.”  
  
Dean’s eyes flew open, met with the sight of Sam, a purple eye, a swollen nose, and his hand in a plastic splint, in a sling. “Sammy.” He wiped furiously as his eyes, trying not to bump his own nose.  
  
John had one hand on Sam’s back, and one on his arm, leading him over to Dean’s bed. Apparently, even though the doctors said he was okay to walk, John had disagreed. “I’m-- I’m going to get some coffee. Let you two talk.” He smiled, and gave a small wave, walking out of the room.  
  
“Hi,” Sam said softly, sitting down in the chair that John had previously occupied. “How are you?”  
  
Dean smiled slightly, then waved his hand. “Been worse.”  
  
Sam snorted, before wincing at the pain in his nose. “They were picking up pieces of your skull in the parking lot.”  
  
Dean’s eyes widened. He cleared his throat, then swallowed a couple times. “Are-- you’re serious?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Just a couple little pieces.” He sighed, then looked around the room, trying to blink away his own tears. “What--” his voice cracked from trying to hold back his cries. “What do you remember?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Not much. Leaving the theatre. All blurry after that.”  
  
Sam nodded understandingly. “That-- that’s good. I’m glad you don’t remember.” He wiped at his eyes, wincing when he touched the swollen one. “Dean…I love you so much.” His head fell forward, but Dean knew he was crying, his shoulders shaking.  
  
“Hey, hey,” Dean said, reaching out to grab Sam’s good hand. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” He patted the spot on the bed beside him, wiggling over a bit to make more room for him. “Come on up here, it’s okay.”  
  
Sam lifted his head, and wiped at his eyes again. He stood up, then carefully, trying not to disturb Dean’s ankle or his own hand, climbed onto the bed, laying on his side, snuggling up to Dean, his head resting on Dean’s shoulder, reminding Dean of when they were children, and Sam had a nightmare. “I love you.”  
  
“I love you too,” Dean told him, pressing a kiss to the side of Sam’s head. “Tell me-- wanna know what happened.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No. Dean, it’s bad enough that I have to remember it. I don’t want you to know what happened either.”  
  
“Two broken noses, a broken hand, a broken ankle, and a black eye. A fractured skull,” Dean listed off. “I know something bad happened.” He took a deep breath, and swallowed again, trying to keep his throat wet enough to get out actual sentences. “I tried to fight them off?”  
  
Sam smiled. “You tried to take on seven guys at once. _Yeah_ you tried to fight them off.”  
  
Dean smiled right back. “Wait-- seven? Guys from when we went in?”  
  
Sam’s smile disappeared, and he nodded, burying his head in Dean’s neck. “You made me get in the car.”  
  
“Good,” Dean nodded sharply. “How’d all this happen to you?”  
  
“When the guy smashed your head into the pavement,” Sam began. “I…I got out. I grabbed him off you. But then two guys got their hands on me. I just…they would’ve killed you, Dean,” he finished softly, voice sounding so tired, and weak, and scared. He began to cry again, cries muffled by Dean’s neck. “You tried to save me. Thank you. Thank you so much.”  
  
Dean smiled, wrapping his arm around Sam’s shoulders, pulling him closer, pulling him half on him. “Course I tried to save you. You’re my Sammy. Nobody touches my Sammy. What happened with the police?"  
  
Sam looked up at him. "I told them it was a gay-bashing. They have them on security tapes before the movie, and-- and-- and I knew one of their names. They called, the police called, and said they found them."  
  
"Yeah?" Dean asked softly. "That's good."  
  
"One of them who didn't do anything, he said he'd testify," Sam continued. "I didn't want to, but the police said now I probably won't have to."  
  
Dean smiled down at him, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'm glad."  
  
Sam sighed, then started playing with Dean's shirt. He took a deep breath, and looked back up at Dean. “You broke one guy’s nose when he called me your bitch,” Sam told him. “It was probably the sweetest thing anybody every did for me.” He tilted his head up, giving Dean a kiss on his chin, the closest he could reach. “I love you.”  
  
“I love you too,” Dean told him, pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. He sighed, and shifted on the bed, wiggling to get more comfortable. He opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind, and just closed his eyes and settled in, Sam’s weight on him like a security blanket.   
  
“I got you more water, Dean,” John said, walking into the room, said water in one hand, his coffee in the other. He walked to the bed, and handed Dean the water. “You can handle that?”  
  
Dean nodded, then brought the cup up to his mouth. He sighed in relief as the water soothed his throat, then took another sip. “Thank you.”  
  
“Of course,” John said, sitting down in the chair. “How are you, Sammy? You want me to get you something?”  
  
Sam didn’t look back at John, just shook his head into Dean’s neck. “I’m okay. Nurse gave me my supper already.”  
  
John nodded. “Okay.” He sighed, then took a drink of his coffee.  
  
“How long?” Dean asked, once he was finished with his water. “How long I been asleep?”  
  
Sam just looked at Dean, and shook his head. “I don’t know the date. Dad?”  
  
“December fifth,” John told him. “Eleven days since you’ve been in here, Dean.”  
  
Dean’s eyes opened wide. “What? Almost two weeks? But-- but-- wow.”  
  
John nodded. “Yeah. I was starting to get pretty worried about ya there. Wasn’t sure if-- well, I wasn’t sure if you were going to wake up this time.”  
  
Dean nodded, then looked at Sam, a look of confusion in his eyes. “So, wait, you should’ve been able to go home already. Why are you still here?”  
  
Sam opened his mouth to answer, but John spoke for him.  
  
“Sam…Sammy has been in the psychiatric care unit for the past few days,” John told him.   
  
“What?” Dean asked in shock. “What? Sammy, why? What happened? What’s wrong?”  
  
Sam just shrugged, and began playing with the edge of Dean’s sleeve. “Nightmares,” he said sadly, looking up at Dean, eyes wide and mournful. “Just for observation. I’ll be fine, they think.”  
  
“Oh, Sammy,” Dean said sadly, pulling Sam back down into him, careful not to squeeze his hand too hard between them. “Sammy…”  
  
“I’m fine,” Sam protested. “Ask Dad. Dad, the doctors said I’ll be okay, right?”  
  
John nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, Dean, Sammy’s gonna be fine.”  
  
"How long are you staying?" Dean asked, turning back to Sam.  
  
Sam shrugged. "They don't know. They-- they want me to stay for awhile, for more observation. The nightmares and my hand."  
  
“How long do _I_ have to stay?” Dean asked. “Am I spending Christmas in the hospital?”  
  
Sam glanced back at John, and nodded sadly. “Mid-January. I asked-- I asked if you’d be out by your birthday. They said maybe.”  
  
Dean sighed, then nodded understandingly. “Okay. Alright. So, Christmas in the hospital.” He groaned. “Fuck.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe this. I’m going to miss Christmas. And my birthday. God. This sucks.”  
  
“We’re having Christmas with you,” Sam assured him. “Dad has to go back to work, but I’m going to visit you everyday in the hospital.” He gave Dean a small peck on the cheek. “And we’ll have Christmas here, with you. It’ll be okay.”  
  
Dean closed his eyes, feeling tears springing up. He took a couple deep breaths, then sniffled, and wiped at his eyes. “No, it’s not,” he said, voice cracking. He groaned again, and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “No, it’s not,” he said again, trying to keep himself from crying. “It’s Christmas,” he said, biting his lip. “I’m not supposed to be in the hospital for Christmas.”  
  
“Dean, it’s okay,” John said softly, reaching over to rub Dean’s leg, trying to comfort him. “It’s okay. I mean, we haven’t even had Christmas together for the past what, seven years? That’s all that matters this year, that we’re together.”  
  
“Yeah, Dean,” Sam assured him. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you woke up. That’s what matters now, okay? Don’t cry.”  
  
Dean sniffled, and wiped at his eyes again. “I hate crying,” he said softly, laughing sadly. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”  
  
“S’ okay,” Sam said softly, reaching up with his good hand to stroke Dean’s cheek. “I don’t mind.”  
  
Dean smiled at Sam, and sighed, before giving him a quick kiss on the lips, nothing to embarrass John. “So what do I gotta do to get out here by my birthday?”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Even though he was in there every day, Dean still smiled when Sam walked into his room, and he pressed the button on the remote, making himself sit up for his visitor. “Hey hey sexy. Look at you, nice splint.”  
  
Sam smiled, and blushed slightly, taking a seat in the chair that was now a permanent fixture by Dean’s bed. “Yeah, I know. I can finally see past it now.”  
  
Dean chuckled softly. “What about my splint?” He tilted his head to the side, looking up at the ceiling, striking a model pose. “How do I look?”  
  
“Gorgeous,” Sam told him, giving him a quick kiss. “As usual. How are you feeling?”  
  
Dean looked back down at Sam, and shrugged. “'Bout as same as the last time you visted me.”  
  
Sam smiled, and gave Dean another kiss, slipping his tongue into Dean’s mouth briefly, before pulling away. “Dad told me he bought our Christmas presents today.” He could barely keep the grin off his face.  
  
Dean sighed, and rolled his eyes. “Sam, when I complained about not having Christmas, I wasn’t talking about presents. Dad can’t afford to get us anything. Tell him to take mine back.”  
  
“No!” Sam said sharply. “It’s Christmas, and you’re getting your present. And you’re getting one from me, too.”  
  
“Sam, no,” Dean told him. “No. Give my present to Dad. He deserves it more than I do. I don’t want any presents this year.”  
  
Sam sat back in his seat, and gasped, hand to his heart in mock shock. “Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester, the guy who stole almost every present I got before I got my growth spurt, doesn’t want his Christmas presents. Okay…I’m getting a doctor, ‘cause there’s obviously something wrong with you.”  
  
Dean just stared at Sam. “Ha. Ha. But I’m serious, Sam. I mean, whatever Dad’s paying for us to be in here…and then with me being in here, he’s the only one paying the rent, and it’s just _not_ essential for me to get presents. And where the _hell_ did you get money for presents? You working on the side, or something?”  
  
“Okay, actually…it’s from me and Bob,” Sam admitted. “He's really worried about you, something about you being his best worker. He’s still putting money into your bank account, you know. He’s sending Dad checks for the work he says he know you would’ve put in.”  
  
“Crap,” Dean muttered. “He hire someone else?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “He said he can handle the counter, until you get back. He really wants you back.”  
  
Dean smiled at the admiration from his boss, proud he was actually good at something other than hunting for once in his life. “Well, once I get out of here, and get settled back in a bit, I’ll be sure to get back to work. It’ll still be a couple months before the baby.”  
  
Sam smiled, and nodded. “Yeah, about that…I’ve decided that I want you to still work, after the baby. I don’t want you to take paternity leave, or something.”  
  
“Sammy--” Dean began, but Sam just cut him off.  
  
“Bob said that you can work less, and he won’t make you work till closing anymore,” Sam told him. “Instead of like, twelve hours, he said that you’d only have to work like, six or something. And that me and the baby can come by and see you whenever. You must be really good at…I don’t know, selling records, I guess. He must really like you.”   
  
“I hope he’s not expecting me to sleep with him or something,” Dean muttered. “Hey, what’s the date today?”  
  
Sam thought about if for a second, then glanced at his watch. “The twentieth.”  
  
Dean nodded. “How come you weren’t around yesterday? Something happen?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Dad said he doesn’t think I should come here as often. I’m…I’m showing, and he doesn’t want the doctors to notice. I’m five months along, you know.”  
  
Dean nodded. “I do know, I know. Well, I think you’re still sexy as ever, baby bump or not. And you don’t even have much of one anyway.”  
  
Sam smiled. “Yeah, well, I still think he’s right. He said that he’ll come by more often, instead of me. Don’t worry, you won’t be alone.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Meh. I can handle it, I’m tough. Besides…there’s this one nurse. _Mm_! Trust me…you can’t be lonely with Nurse Breast-- oops, I mean, _Best_ , around.”  
  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, and shook his head. “God. You perv.”  
  
Dean shrugged again, a huge smile on his face. “So sue me. And by the way, I’m more of a leg man these days. As in…a six foot four Greek god, with these cute little dimples. Just adorable, I tell ya.”  
  
Sam blushed slightly, and bit his lip, looking around the room. “Well, gee, thanks. But I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you from now on. I'm definitly going to have to keep visiting you now.”  
  
Dean smiled, then leaned down, giving Sam a quick kiss. “Don’t worry. She’s a little old for me anyway. We could always set her up with Dad, I guess. Speaking of Dad, when’s he coming back to get you?”  
  
Sam glanced at his watch. “In a couple more hours. He dropped me off on his lunch break, said he'd be back when work was finished.” He stood up, then patted Dean’s knee. “Shove over, let’s watch some TV.”  
  
Dean smiled, then wriggled over. “C’me ‘ere.” He sighed as Sam laid down beside him, resting his head on Dean’s arm. “Let’s see if we can get free porn on this thing.”  
  
Sam giggled, then grabbed the remote from Dean. “There’s probably a game show on here somewhere. Maybe a soap.”  
  
Dean snorted, and grabbed the remote back. “No soaps, no game shows. Oprah, or nothing.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 27/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** It's Christmas time in the hospital, and for the first time in seven years, all three Winchesters are together  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

 

Dean sighed then shut off the television. “What is up with all the Christmas specials? I swear; if ‘Frosty the Snowman’ comes on _one_ more time…”  
  
Sam snorted and rolled his eyes, looking at Dean over his magazine. “You’ll what? Dean, it’s Christmas Eve, let them play their shows. Besides, I like them.”  
  
Dean’s head lolled over and he raised an eyebrow at Sam. “You serious?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Yeah, they’re cute. I’m partial to ‘The Year Without A Santa Claus’ myself.”  
  
“Well, you’re in luck, that’s coming on at ten,” Dean told him. “And yes, we can watch it. But only because you’re so damn good-looking.”  
  
Sam snorted again. “Gee, thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” He sighed then checked his watch. “Dad’s coming soon. He probably won’t want to watch it either.”  
  
Dean shrugged then turned the television back on. “It’s my television. He’ll watch what I tell him to watch and if you want to watch ‘The Year Without A Santa Claus’…we’ll watch ‘The Year Without A Santa Claus’.”  
  
Sam nodded once, a smile on his face. “Thank you.”  
  
Dean tilted his head to the side and brought his hand up, tapping his cheek, while making kissy noises.  
  
Sam sighed then stood up for long enough to give Dean a peck on the cheek. “Happy?” he asked, sitting back down and going back to his magazine. He began cracking his gum, reading some random article intently, until he felt eyes on him. He dropped the magazine down and saw Dean staring-- no, _gazing_ at him-- dreamily and somewhat longingly. “What?”  
  
“I don’t know why you’re bothering to read that magazine,” Dean told him. “The only interesting articles are in Hustler.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes then went back to the magazine. “I _highly_ doubt you read the articles in Hustler.” He blew a small bubble with his gum then began cracking it again.  
  
“How you feeling, Dean?” John asked, knocking on the doorframe. “You ready for the Christmas party of your life?”  
  
“Hi, Dad,” Sam said, not even looking up from his magazine.  
  
“I really don’t think this is going to be the quote, ‘Christmas party of my life’,” Dean began, “but I’m sure it’ll be fine. Oh and Sam’s making us watch ‘The Year Without A Santa Claus’ at ten.”  
  
John glared down at Sam. “Come on, Sammy…”  
  
“Dean said it’s his TV and you’ll watch what he wants you to watch,” Sam said flatly, cracking his gum again.  
  
John raised his eyebrow and looked down at Dean. “Oh, did he?”  
  
“Hey, Dad, you can pick what we watch when _you_ are in a coma,” Dean said, a smile on his face. “Until then, you’ll quiet down and watch the crappy Christmas specials.”  
  
John snorted then set his bag of presents down on the floor by Dean’s bed then grabbed the other chair, placing it by Sam’s. He flopped down then nudged Dean for the remote, which Dean tossed over. “It’s not ten yet.”  
  
“So what did the doctors say about us staying overnight?” Sam asked, finally looking up from his magazine, which he was holding up awkwardly with one hand and a sling.   
  
“They don’t care,” John said, flicking through the channels. “Well, okay, I’m sure they _care_ , but Dean doesn’t have a roommate, we’re his only family and it’s Christmas. They’re letting us stay.” He continued flipping through the channels for a few moments longer, before he paused, listened for a second then and looked over at Sam. “Sam, stop snapping your gum.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and cracked his gum one more time.  
  
“Sam,” John said sternly.  
  
Sam immediately swallowed his gum with a _gulp_ then went back to his magazine. He flipped idly through the pages, trying to find something else to read. He dropped the magazine and leaned back in his chair. “Okay, now I need something else to do with my mouth.”  
  
Dean tried not to laugh his ass off, but failed miserably, his giggles spilling out, loudly. John just stared at Sam, his jaw slightly open.  
  
Sam looked confused for a moment, before his eyes opened wide with realization. “Okay people, I was _not_ talking about that!”  
  
Dean managed to calm his laughter down, just shaking his head. John kept staring at him, but he managed to close his mouth.  
  
“I wasn’t!” Sam protested. “Oh, grow up, you two.” He muttered to himself then went back to his magazine. “Perverts.”  
  
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, Sammy,” Dean began.  
  
“I’m sure,” John interrupted, a smile on his face.  
  
“But the doctors already told me about the whole sex thing,” Dean continued, smiling back at his father. “Apparently, it’s too much physical exertion for me right now. Actually, they said that it could kill me.”  
  
“They did _not_!” Sam snapped. “I heard what the doctor told you. She said you may experience decreased libido, temporary impotence and the inability to orgasm. She said nothing about it killing you.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. “What the hell did you do, take notes?”  
  
“You know, I really, _really_ didn’t want to know any of that,” John said, to no one in particular, looking up to the ceiling. “God, why did you curse me with such … _open_ sons?”   
  
“Actually, after she talked to you about it, I looked it up on the net,” Sam told him. “Reduced frequency of sex could be another symptom.”  
  
“Oh, Christ,” Dean muttered. “You know what, Sammy? Brain injury or no brain injury, the second I get out of this hospital, I’m gonna--”  
  
“Do _not_ finish that sentence,” John interrupted. “Please. God.”  
  
Dean and Sam glanced at each other, smiling slyly. “Don’t worry about it, Dad,” Dean said, a smirk on his face. “But you want to make sure you’re out of the apartment on Valentine’s Day. I plan on taking good care of my man.”  
  
“Good to know,” John murmured, still going through the channels, “Nothing on but news and Christmas specials.”  
  
“Almost as if it’s Christmas Eve,” Sam muttered. He dropped his magazine again and sighed. “Christ, this is boring. I mean, no offence, Dean, but wow … you’re not a very good host.”  
  
“Why don’t you take him for a ride in his wheelchair?” John asked, glancing back at Sam.  
  
“Whoa whoa whoa,” Dean said, sitting up. “I get wheelchair privileges? I have a wheelchair?”  
  
“Everyone has a wheelchair,” John answered. “I’ll cover for you, if you want to take him, Sam. Just take his IV, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”  
  
Sam set his magazine on Dean’s bed then pushed himself up. “You wanna go?”  
  
Dean glanced over at John, who was nodding then up at Sam, who had a small smile on his face. “Yeah, okay, sure. If you think it’s okay.”  
  
Sam walked a few feet over to the door and grabbed the wheelchair that was there, pushing it back over to the bed with his one good hand. “Dad, help me get him up.”  
  
“Sure.” John set the remote down then stood up. “Get the wheelchair right beside the bed and make sure his IV is close enough.”  
  
Sam pushed the chair a bit closer to the bed and grabbed onto the IV, pulling it close to the bed, creating slack in the line.  
  
John wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist and pulled him up, making sure his bad leg stayed on the bed. He held Dean up until Sam got the chair underneath him then he set him down. “Okay, now for the leg.” He knelt down then pulled out the leg brace on the right side of the wheelchair. “Okay, let’s get your good leg down first.”  
  
Dean swung his left leg off the bed, setting his foot on the piece of metal.  
  
John lightly grasped onto Dean’s cast then Dean lifted his bad leg off the bed. John set his ankle down gently then took a step back, checking it out. “There, that looks good. Sam, let Dean hold onto the IV, you use your good hand to push him, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded then handed the IV over to Dean, who had his head tilted back, looking up at him. “Alright, Dean, let’s go on a tour. Catch ya in a few, Dad.”  
  
Dean glanced back at his father to see him climbing onto his bed, playing with the remote. “Have fun, Dad.”  
  
John just nodded and waved them off. “Try and stay on the property!”  
  
Sam smiled then carefully pushed Dean out of his room, checking both ways, before pushing him left. “I can show you my old room.”  
  
Dean smiled. “Oh, joy. Come on, Sam, take me on a wild and crazy tour, you know … show me what happens when the sun goes down and the street lights come on.”  
  
Sam bit back his laughs. “God, Dean, it’s a hospital, not a club. The lights are always on in the hospital.”  
  
“Well, take me somewhere we can be alone then,” Dean said, glancing up at Sam. “I’m horny.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and smiled, but that disappeared when he saw the serious look on Dean’s face. “You-- you’re serious? Dean, we can’t, it’s a--”  
  
“Hospital,” Dean finished. “Yeah, I know. Big deal. Come on, Sammy. Please? One blow-job?” he said the last part a bit quieter than the rest of the sentence. “I promise, as soon as I get out of here, I’ll pay you back, ten-fold.”  
  
Sam sighed and stayed silent for a moment, finally figuring out how Dean can never resist him when _he_ uses the puppy-dog eyes, ‘cause Dean’s got them in full force right now. “…No.”  
  
“Sam!” Dean cried. “Come on.”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No. I’m not doing it. I want-- I know it sounds stupid, but I guess I kind of want our first time after all this to be special. Not a blowjob in an empty exam room.”  
  
Dean sighed then nodded. “Yeah, okay, I guess I can understand that. But, can I have one favour?”  
  
“What?” Sam asked.  
  
“A kiss.”  
  
Sam smiled then stopped pushing Dean, moving in front of him. His hand covering Dean’s on the armrest and he leaned in, giving Dean a kiss. Their lips moved together slowly, before Sam opened up his mouth and let Dean’s tongue slip in to massage his.  
  
Dean brought his hand up and threaded through Sam’s hair, pulling him in closer. He moaned, low in his throat, before pulling back, breath coming in short pants. “That was pretty good.”  
  
Sam smiled then grabbed onto the handle of the wheelchair and began to push Dean towards the door. “Yeah, well, I have my talents. Now come on, let’s ride the elevators.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“I'm Mister White Christmas, I'm Mister Snow. I'm Mister Icicle, I'm Mister Ten Below,” Sam sang along to the television, bobbing his head side to side with the music.  
  
“Sammy, whoever told you that you could sing … lied,” Dean told him.  
  
Sam glared at Dean for a second, before going back to singing the song. “Turns to snow in my clutch  
I'm too much!”  
  
John chuckled softly and took a sip of his coffee. “C’mon, Dean, we gotta be his chorus. He's Mister White Christmas, he's Mister Snow.”  
  
Dean groaned and smiled as Sam interrupted the lyrics with ‘That’s right!’ “He's Mister Icicle,  
he's Mister Ten Below.”  
  
John chuckled and reached over, giving Dean a high-five, smiling at Sam as he continued on.  
  
“Friends call me Snow Miser, whatever I touch turns to snow in my clutch,” Sam sang, trying not to burst out into giggles.  
  
“He’s too much!” Dean and John sang together. They both began laughing, as Sam continued on with his part. John took another drink of his coffee.  
  
Sam stopped singing and reached over, grabbing a candy cane out of the bag John had brought with him, ripping the plastic wrapping at the end with his teeth. He pushed the plastic down then popped the candy cane in his mouth. He was the only one of the three actually watching the movie, despite the fact that he had seen it at least fifteen times.   
  
“So, what are the doctors saying, Dad?” Dean asked, trying to stay quiet so Sam could still hear the television. “When can I get out of here?”  
  
“Well, they like everything, your tests are good and you seem to be recovering well,” John said quietly, also not wanting to overshadow the television. “But Dean … you were still in a coma for eleven days. You couldn’t breathe on your own. You have a fractured skull.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, I know that, Dad. Every time I ask when I can go home, _that_ is what they tell me. C’mon, you’re my Dad. Tell me the truth. I mean, I am getting out of here, right?”  
  
John nodded. “Yeah, of course, of course you are. They-- they think it’ll be, probably at the most, another month.”  
  
“Fuck,” Dean muttered, glancing over at Sam, who was watching the television, but kept stealing glances at Dean and John. “I want to spend time with him, before the baby.”  
  
“I know,” John said softly, rubbing Dean’s leg, trying to comfort him. “I know that. And you will. You’ve still got four months until the baby is born. Another month in here and Sam’s yours for three. Besides, it’s not like you two will _never_ have time, after the baby. I plan on sticking around for at least a few months. I can take care of the baby, while you two do stuff. Having a baby isn’t the end of your personal lives, Dean.”  
  
Dean sighed then rubbed at his eyes, getting tired. “I know, I know. It’s just-- it’ll be different. And I’m not sure I want it to be different.”  
  
“What do you mean?” John asked.  
  
“Dad … it-- having a baby is different for us, than when you and Mom had us,” Dean began. “I don’t know how to explain it, I’m not even sure that _I_ know what that means, I just know that it won’t be the same. It’s like there’ll be more pressure on us, or something.” He glanced over at Sam, who was almost asleep, head back awkwardly, candy cane dangling out of his mouth, eyes barely slits, still watching the television. He smiled and chuckled softly, before turning back to his father. “I don’t know.”  
  
John glanced over at Sam and began laughing. “He sleeping with you?” he asked Dean.  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah. Take that candy cane out of his mouth; I don’t want that getting stuck on his shirt or something.” He wriggled over at best he could and folded the bed sheet back.   
  
“Hey, Sammy,” John said softly. He took the candy cane out Sam’s mouth and set it down on Dean’s food tray. “Hey, Sammy, you wanna wake up for a second?”  
  
Sam groaned and his head rolled to one side, before his eyes flickered open. “Wha?”  
  
“Time for bed, Sammy,” Dean said before yawning loudly. “Come on, climb up. And take off your shoes.”  
  
Sam stood up slowly and stretched and yawned as he toed off his sneakers. “Where’s Dad sleeping?”  
  
“I can handle the chair,” John answered, helping Sam climb into the bed. “There, you okay?”  
  
Sam nodded sleepily and burrowed into Dean’s side, good hand splayed across Dean’s chest. “Night, Dad.” It only took a few moments before his breathing was deep and slow and he was snoring softly.  
  
Dean grabbed onto the sheet and pulled it back up over him and Sam and smiled up at John. “Does he still, you know, have the nightmares?”  
  
John shrugged then fixed the sheet and ran his fingers through the ends of Sam’s hair. “Hasn’t in a couple days, but sleeping somewhere else … I don’t know. We’ll have to see.”  
  
Dean nodded understandingly then pressed a kiss to Sam’s head. “You’ll get the TV and the lights?”  
  
John nodded, “Yeah” he grabbed the remote and turned off the television then walked to the door, flicking off the lights. “Night, Dean.” He sat down in the chair, settling in.  
  
“Night, Dad.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam woke up to the sound of Christmas carols. In his memory, it was the first time he ever woke up to Christmas carols. He smiled before his eyes were even open and rolled over.  
  
“Morning, Sammy,” John said softly, reaching out to brush Sam’s hair off his forehead. “How you feeling?”  
  
Sam sighed then sat up a bit, trying not to disturb Dean, “Fine.” he yawned and rubbed at his eyes. “How’d I sleep?”  
  
“Good,” John nodded. “Dean too. You both slept fine. No nightmares?”  
  
Sam shook his head and swung his legs off the bed. “No nightmares.” He yawned again then stood up and leaned down, pulling John in for a hug.   
  
“Wha?” John asked, a little shocked.  
  
“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Sam mumbled into John’s neck.   
  
“Oh,” John said softly. “Well, Merry Christmas to you too, Sammy.” He reached up and patted Sam on the back, holding him there for a few more moments before Sam pulled away.  
  
Sam sighed then sat down in his chair, eyes on Dean. “Do you think we should wake him up?”  
  
John glanced over at Dean then shook his head. “No, let him sleep. It’s Christmas, he can sleep in for once.”  
  
Sam nodded then sighed again, bored already. “I’m-- I’m gonna go use the washroom. You want me to get you a coffee or something?”  
  
“Yeah, sure,” John nodded, watching Dean. “Thanks, Sammy.”  
  
Sam smiled then walked out of the room, hanging a right down the hall.  
  
John sighed then stood up, cracking his neck and stretching his arms above his head. He yawned and began walking around the room, glad Dean didn’t have a roommate yet.   
  
“Dad?”  
  
John turned around quickly and smiled. “Hey, Dean, how you feeling?”  
  
Dean shrugged and grabbed his bed remote, sitting himself up. “Finally got a good night’s sleep with Sammy here.”  
  
John nodded understandingly then walked back over to his chair, sitting down. “Yeah, he just went to the washroom and to get some coffee.”  
  
Dean nodded back then yawned, reaching up to run his hands through his short hair. “Hope he brings me something.”  
  
“You’re not getting coffee,” John snapped. “Doctor told me she doesn’t want you drinking any.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know, I was just joking. I do get a candy cane though, right?”  
  
“Of course,” John told him, reaching down into the bag he had brought the night before. “Here ya go.”  
  
Dean undid the wrapping quickly and popped the candy cane into his mouth. “You know what, Dad?”  
  
“What?” John asked, unwrapping his own candy cane.  
  
Dean swirled his tongue around the end of the candy cane, before pulling it out of his mouth, a smile on his face. “Merry Christmas.”  
  
John smiled then stuck his candy cane into his mouth. “Merry Christmas.”  
  
“Okay, take this before I burn myself,” Sam said, walking into the room holding onto John’s coffee. He handed the cup off to John then blew on his hand, trying to cool it down. “Dean! You’re awake.”  
  
Dean smiled then winked at his father. “Hell yeah, I am. C’me here, lover.” He held his arms out wide for Sam.  
  
Sam smiled back then walked over to Dean, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Merry Christmas,” he told Dean, letting himself be pulled in for a hug. “I love you, Dean,” he said softly, playing with the short hair at the nape of Dean’s neck.  
  
“I love you too,” Dean said softly, tightening his hold on Sam, pulling him in even closer. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.” He pressed a kiss to the side of Sam’s head and nudged at him, getting him to look up at him.  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked softly.  
  
Dean brought his finger up to tap his lips. “Right here, lover.”  
  
Sam smiled then glanced back at John, who was trying not to laugh into his coffee and had his eyes on the television. “When did you start calling me ‘lover’?” he murmured, before pressing his lips to Dean’s. He sighed into Dean’s mouth, as Dean’s tongue began pressing against his lips. The kiss was a little stale; with only the mint from Dean’s candy cane and the coffee that Sam had taken a sip of before giving it to John.  
  
Sam pulled away and rested his head on Dean’s shoulder, before pressing a quick kiss to the side of Dean’s neck. “Wanna open presents?” he asked, excitement creeping into his voice.  
  
Dean groaned playfully and rolled his head away from Sam. “Dad,” he whined, somehow making the word into two syllables, “Sammy’s bothering me about presents.”  
  
“Sam, don’t bother your brother,” John said, not taking his eyes off the television.  
  
Dean raised his eyebrow and smirked. “Ha ha. Leave me alone, Sammy.” He stuck his tongue out at Sam.  
  
Sam opened his mouth in mock shock and turned to John. “Dad! Dean stuck his tongue out at me.”  
  
“Dean, don’t stick your tongue out at your brother,” John said flatly, taking a sip of his coffee. “Shut your mouths and open your presents.”  
  
“Yay!” Sam cheered playfully, before he began to laugh. He shoved Dean over, careful not to disturb his ankle and lay down on the bed beside him. “Open yours first, Dad.”  
  
John turned to Sam, eyes wide. “Sam, you didn’t have to get me a present.”  
  
“Actually, we both got it for you,” Dean told him. “Awhile ago. Before this whole … everything. Don’t sweat it, Dad, it’s Christmas.”  
  
“It’s in the bag,” Sam said, gesturing down to the bag by the bed.  
  
John set his coffee down on the food tray then reached down, picking up the bag. “Well … I doubt it’s a gun, ‘cause I’m not sure you could get that in here.”  
  
Dean and Sam smiled at each other.  
  
“Let’s see what we got here,” John said, picking out the present with a tag on it that said ‘Dad’, in the same childlike handwriting Sam used to write in. He held the present up to his ear and shook it. “Hmm, wonder what it could be.” He held it up to the light, trying to see through it. “I wonder if it’s a book.”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and Sam just groaned. “Dad, just open the present.”  
  
“Fine, fine,” John muttered, peeling back the wrapping paper. “‘Cycle of the Werewolf’ by Stephen King.” He smiled and glanced up at Sam and Dean. “So, I’m guessing it was Sam who remembered my love of Stephen King.”  
  
“And Dean who remembered your love of werewolves,” Sam said, a smile on his face. “Do you like it?”  
  
John nodded. “Of course, I do. I love it.”  
  
“We _would_ have gotten you more,” Dean began, “but really not that much time to shop when you’re in the hospital. Which is of course, why your only other present is this.” He reached over to his bedside table and opened the drawer. “I got one of the nurses to hook me up.” He handed it to Sam, who handed it to John.  
  
“A coffee mug,” John said. He read the side and smiled. “A coffee mug that says ‘Big Without Viagra’.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and lightly smacked Dean in the chest.  
  
“Wow. Thanks, Dean,” John said, trying not to laugh.  
  
Dean shrugged. “Oh, well, it’s the least that I could do.”  
  
John tried not to laugh, as he set the mug and book down by his coffee. “Oh, I’m sure it is.”  
  
“I can’t believe you got him that,” Sam muttered.  
  
“Hey! I didn’t pick it out!” Dean protested. “I told the nurse to get me a funny mug, preferably dirty. It was either that or ‘Porn Star’.”  
  
John reached into the bag and pulled out another gift. “This is for you, Sammy.”  
  
Sam took the gift and checked the tag. It was from John. “Thanks, Dad.” He bent his knees, holding his present between his legs and using his good hand, awkwardly peeled back the wrapping paper. “Thanks, Dad!”  
  
“What is it, Sam?” Dean asked, looking over past Sam’s arm. “‘War and Peace’? Are you _serious_? How frigging long is this thing?”  
  
“A thousand and something pages,” Sam answered. “Thanks, Dad, I love it.”  
  
Dean sat back, mouth slightly open. “You _love_ it? Sam, but-- when-- dude, it’s more than a thousand pages!”  
  
“I started to read it once,” Sam told him, “but I lost it in one of our moves.”  
  
“And you were saying how bored you were, home alone,” John said. “I mean, Dean will probably be home with you for awhile, but I figure you have a lot of free time now, maybe you could finally finish it.”  
  
Sam smiled, gratefully. “Thanks.”  
  
“So I guess these two must be for you, Dean,” John said, handing the bag over to Sam, who set it on Dean’s lap.  
  
Dean reached into the bag and pulled out the first present.   
  
“It’s from me,” Sam told him. “Well and Bob.”  
  
Dean smiled then examined the present. “Like Dad, I doubt it’s a gun.” He peeled back the wrapping paper, crumpling it into a ball, tossing it to his father. “CCR Greatest Hits! Oh man, that’s awesome, Sammy.”  
  
“You like it?” Sam asked softly, still a little unsure.  
  
Dean nodded and gave Sam a quick kiss. “Love it. Thank you.” He gave him another kiss then went back to the bag, grabbing John’s gift from him.   
  
“I … I wasn’t sure what to get you,” John said softly. “So you know ... whatever.”  
  
Dean smiled then unwrapped the present. “Shut up, Dad.”  
  
“I-- I didn’t say anything,” John said, glancing at Dean.  
  
“What is it?” Sam asked, pushing away the wrapping.  
  
“Dad, this rocks,” Dean said. “Seriously. I love it. ‘The Shining’ and ‘One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest’. My man Jack…” he smiled devilishly. “Thank you.”  
  
John nodded, relieved. “I’m glad. That-- that’s good, I’m glad.”  
  
Dean set the movies down by Sam’s book then sighed. “Uh … Sammy, I didn’t really have a lot of time to get you _your_ present--”  
  
“I know,” Sam interrupted. “It’s okay. You being okay, that’s good enough for me. I mean, you’ve already gotten me pregnant, what more can a man ask for?”  
  
Dean smiled then turned back to his bedside table. “I kind of-- I know it’s stupid, I really do, but like I said, I don’t get out much more anymore.”  
  
“Dean, I don’t care,” Sam assured him. “Really, I don’t.”  
  
Dean sighed then grabbed the present. “Fine. Here, take it. I just-- I promise, I’ll get you something better, when I get out.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and took the small bag. He opened it up, looked inside and his face broke out into a huge grin. “Oh, so _I_ got the ‘Porn Star’ mug.”  
  
Dean smiled and shrugged. “Well, what can I say?”  
  
Sam chuckled softly then gave Dean a kiss. “I love it. And I love you. Thank you.”  
  
Dean sighed then grabbed the remote for the bed, pressing the button to make the bed go down. “Dad, you might want to leave the room for this.” He waggled his eyebrows.  
  
“Oh, Christ, Dean,” Sam muttered, grabbing the remote back.

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 28/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** R this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** After Sam gets news about his hand, he and John go back to the apartment  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

John cleared his throat and Sam looked back at him. “Sam…”  
  
Sam nodded then turned back to Dean. “We gotta go.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked, playing with his bed remote. “How come?”  
  
“Sam has an appointment,” John answered. “For his hand.”  
  
Dean stopped playing with the remote and sat up, a serious look in his eyes. “Oh. Well, I hope it’s good news, Sammy.”  
  
Sam smiled and sat down on the edge of the bed by Dean, leaning down to give him a kiss. “Thanks.”  
  
“I wish I could go with you,” Dean continued. “It really sucks, that I can’t be there when you find out. I really hope they say it’ll get better.”  
  
“I know,” Sam said softly, before giving Dean another kiss. “Love you.”  
  
“Love you too,” Dean said. “Good luck.”  
  
Sam stood up and walked over to the door, before turning back to Dean. “Luck has nothing to do with this.”  
  
John gave a small wave then followed Sam out of the room, a sad smile on his face. “Wait, Sam.”  
  
Sam sighed then turned around. “Come on, Dad, I just want to get this over with. Please. I want to know now.”  
  
John sighed back, before nodding slowly. “Yeah, okay. I just wanted to let you know, it’s not the end of the world … if the doctor’s news isn’t good.”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who might never use his hand again. Come on; let’s just get this over with.” He turned and continued on walking, not even checking to see if John was following him.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam sighed and leaned against the wall, waiting for John to unlock the door.   
  
John glanced back at him, still fiddling with the lock. “You okay?”  
  
Sam shrugged, before he nodded and pushed himself off the wall. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He followed John into the apartment, closing the door behind him. He toed off his shoes and walked out into the living room. “I just don’t like leaving him there, alone.”  
  
John nodded, not entirely sure that’s what had Sam down and set the bag down on the table and turned around, leaning against the edge. He sighed and decided not to press the hand issue for right now. “I know, me too. But he isn’t there _alone_. As long as there’s a hot nurse somewhere, he’ll be fine.”  
  
Sam smiled sadly, before sitting down on the couch, grabbing the remote. “That’s what worries me.”  
  
John’s eyes filled with confusion, before he pushed himself off the table and walked over to Sam, sitting down beside him on the couch. “What are you talking about?”  
  
Sam sighed and opened his mouth to speak, before deciding against it, shaking his head. “It’s stupid. You-- you won’t care.”  
  
“Sam, I know we’ve had our … problems,” he smiled weakly, “over the years, but you’re still my son.”  
  
Sam looked up at him, a small, grateful smile on his face. “Yeah, I know.”  
  
John nudged him gently. “So, what’s going on? What are you talking about?”  
  
Sam sighed and sat back, playing with his sling. “I mean, just-- just look at me. My nose-- it’s broken and still swollen. My hand is all gross and purple and I can never use it again. And I’m fat-- I’m five months pregnant _fat_. I’m not spending enough time with him to keep him in love with me.” He scratched at his neck where the sling met his skin and he slid the sling off, dropping it to the couch, letting his hand fall to the lap.  
  
John chuckled softly, but immediately stopped when he saw the look on Sam’s face. “You-- you’re serious? Sam, you can’t be serious.”  
  
“Dad, you’ve seen the people that Dean’s dated-- well, not dated, so much as had sex with, over the years. All of them, they’re completely gorgeous,” Sam explained. “I just-- I had a six-pack and now, now look at me.” He stood up, turning to the side so John could see his stomach in profile. “Would _you_ love someone who looked like _this_?”  
  
John rolled his eyes and grabbed Sam’s good arm, pulling him back down. “Yes, I would. I did. She was your mother.”  
  
Sam looked at him and swallowed hard. He lifted his right arm, dangling it in front of John’s face. “Would you love someone who had a hand like this?” He dropped it back down to his lap, wincing only slightly.  
  
John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sam, you need to calm down. Dean told me once, how much he loved you and how he would--” he swallowed hard, trying not to freak himself out with the topic, “--love you forever. Now, Dean’s seen pregnant women before, he knew what you were going to look like. You can’t be worried about this. And your hand, well, you know that doesn’t matter. Are you still going to love Dean when he walks with a limp?”  
  
“Ye-- yeah,” Sam said softly. Sam sighed then leaned his head on John’s shoulder, chuckling softly. “Yeah-- yeah, I know, I told you it was stupid.” He sat back and began flipping through the channels. “Maybe I should read a bit.”  
  
John smiled and patted Sam on the knee. “Maybe. ‘Cause before you know it, Dean’s going to back here, climbing on the walls.” He stood up then walked over to the table, grabbing ‘War and Peace’ out of the bag. He would’ve tossed it back over to Sam, but with only one hand … John walked back over to the couch, handing it to Sam. “Get a couple pages in before supper.” He grabbed the remote and turned off the television. “I’m just gonna make a pizza, okay?”  
  
Sam looked up from the book and nodded. “Yeah, okay.” He opened it to the first page and began to read.  
  
John went to the freezer, grabbing a frozen pizza, setting it on the counter to open it up. The silence in the apartment was deafening and John shifted awkwardly. “Hey, Sammy!”  
  
Sam looked up from his book. “Yeah?”  
  
“You wanna maybe turn the television on?” John asked. “Just put it on low, or something.”  
  
Sam grabbed the remote and turned the television on; leaving it on the last channel it had been on, dropping the remote down by his side.   
  
John read the instructions on the pizza box then stepped to the stove, turning on the oven to pre-heat at four hundred degrees. He turned around, sighed. He could see how Sam got so bored around here. He opened his mouth to tell Sam he was taking a shower, but decided against it. He just walked from the kitchen, took a left and walked into the bathroom.  
  
Sam glanced up as his father walked by and gave a slight smile. He sighed then looked up at the television; some stupid talk show that probably would’ve entertained Dean a lot more than him or John. He shook his head and went back to his book. That lasted for all of about five minutes, before Sam looked up at television again. “Fuck,” he groaned, setting the book down. He turned the volume on the television up, finding something else to watch. He stopped on some game show, before grabbing his book and setting it on the floor, laying down on the couch, broken hand curled up to his chest.  
  
John shut off the water and carefully stepped out of the shower, grabbing a towel. He wrapped it around his waist then grabbed his clothes and walked out of the bathroom, shutting off the light behind him. He walked into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He wiped his brow then set his clothes down on his bed. He sighed then sat down on the bed, rubbing his face. He shook his head and tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “Dean,” he said softly, trying to let his eyes fill up with tears. “Get better, _please_ get better.” John sighed then pushed himself up off the mattress. He went to his closet, pulling open the door. “For Sammy.”  
  
Sam groaned then pushed himself up on the couch. Every day he spent in the apartment, doing nothing; put him even closer to going insane with boredom. He leaned back and brought his hand up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose, before he remembered it was broken. He opened his eyes and shrugged, before pinching it anyway. Sam’s eyes squeezed shut with the pain and he gasped. “Fuck,” he said softly. It hurt like a bitch, but at least it was something to distract him from his boredom for a few seconds.  
  
John dropped his towel into the bathroom then walked back out past Sam. “You okay, Sammy?” John asked, glancing at Sam, who still had his eyes squeezed shut.  
  
Sam’s eyes flew open and he shot up in his seat. He cleared his throat, nodding. “Ye-- yeah, I’m fine … just thinking.”  
  
John studied Sam for a moment, before shrugging and going into the kitchen to put the pizza in the oven. He checked the box for the cooking time then glanced at his watch. He walked over to the dining room table, opting to stay far enough away from Sam that they wouldn’t feel the need to talk to each other. Ever since Dean had been in the hospital and they had been home, they didn’t really have anything to talk about, other than Dean.  
  
They sat in silence, Sam watching the television, John reading the paper, until the pizza was done. For supper, they both sat at the dining table, but even then, they barely spoke, just ate the pizza.  
  
John sighed and took a sip of his beer, glancing over at Sam, whose eyes were boring holes into the floor, trying and almost failing to keep his slice of pizza in one hand. “I can … I can cut it for you, or something, if that’d be easier.”  
  
Sam’s eyes shot up at him, before he went back to his pizza, trying to keep a piece of pepperoni from falling off. He chewed for a moment, shaking his head, before swallowing. “No, no. It’s fine. Just a little awkward with one hand, is all. I have to get used to it.” He sighed then squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep his tears back. He sniffled then took another bite of his pizza.  
  
“You okay?” John asked, setting his slice of pizza down.   
  
Sam nodded, but kept his eyes shut, still sniffling. “Fine,” he said softly. He set his pizza down then grabbed his glass of water. He took a drink then set his glass back down. He sighed then pushed his chair back. “Um, I’m just-- I’m gonna go to bed, or something.”  
  
“Sam?” John said, watching as his son walked down the hall. He pushed himself back from the table and went after him. “Sam? What’s going on?” He grabbed onto Sam’s shoulder, turning him around to face him.  
  
“Just-- just leave me alone, okay?” Sam reached up with his left hand and pushed John off him. “I just wanna go to bed.” He wiped at his eyes then turned back around.  
  
“Sam, I am your father,” John said loudly, following him. “Don’t walk away from me like this. Tell me what’s wrong.”  
  
Sam turned back around, biting his lip, trying to keep his cries in. “What’s wrong? What’s _wrong_? I can’t even eat pizza! I’m like a fucking retard, or something!”  
  
John took a step towards him, not sure what to say. “Sammy--”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Don’t. Just … just don’t. It’s not your fault and there’s nothing you can do. Dad, the doctor said I’ll probably never use my hand again.”  
  
John sighed then nodded slowly. “I-- I know, Sammy.”  
  
Sam began to sob, falling against the wall, sliding down to the floor. “Dad … Dad, what if I can never hold my baby?”  
  
John bit his lip then sat down beside Sam. “Sam … Sam, I don’t know what to say to make you feel better. I mean, I think you’ll be able to hold your baby, but maybe-- you’ll just have to leave the heavy lifting to Dean.”  
  
“Don’t joke about this,” Sam gritted through his teeth. “It’s _not_ funny.”  
  
“I know,” John said softly. “I know. I just, I don’t know how to deal with this, Sam. I’m sorry, I’m sorry that you might not ever be able to use your hand again. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you from the world, from those boys. I’m sorry for everything.”  
  
Sam sniffled then wiped at his nose, taking a deep breath. “Dean and I can never hunt again.”  
  
John swallowed hard then nodded. “I-- I know.”  
  
“Doesn’t that just _kill_ you?” Sam gritted angrily. “It’s all you ever wanted for us and now we can never do it again.”  
  
John shook his head. “It wasn’t all I ever wanted for you, Sammy, God.” His head dropped forward and he sniffled. “Sam, when I first held you in my arms, when I first saw you, you know what I thought? What I pictured for you? I pictured _college_ , Sam, I pictured a wife and kids and a _real_ job and a home. It’s the same thing I wanted for Dean. I wanted you to have what I had. It just didn’t work out that way.”  
  
“Yeah well, whose fault is that?” Sam muttered.  
  
“Mine,” John answered. “Mine. And I know that. I know that if I had made a different choice that day, that you would have all those things ... but now, Sammy, now I know that you wouldn’t have all _this_. If your mother had lived and we didn’t become what we did … do you really think that you and Dean would have done this? You think you would’ve fallen in love with him?” He paused, as if waiting for an answer, although he didn’t really expect one. “You wouldn’t have your baby,” he said softly.   
  
Sam sighed then sniffled again, wiping at his nose. “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t’ve known what I lost. But for now, I’ve lost everything. I lost my childhood and-- and my _innocence_. I’ve lost Jess and now I’ve lost my hand.” He shook his head. “I almost lost Dean.”  
  
“Sam, your hand could still work, the doctor said you _might_ not regain full usage. _Might_. That’s big, Sam. If you work it, or-- or surgery or something, you could use it again,” John reminded him. He sighed then shook his head. “Maybe I should drive you to the hospital, let you stay with Dean again. You’re happy around him. I just … I just mess everything up.” He sighed then pushed himself up from the floor. He turned around and held out his hand. “You need help up?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “I’m fine. I may be five months pregnant with a broken hand, but I can damn well stand up.”  
  
John raised an eyebrow, but dropped his arm back down anyway. “Fine. So do you want me to take you to see Dean, or not?”  
  
Sam shook his head again. He sighed then placed his left hand flat against the floor, trying to push himself up. He groaned then pushed up again, but his stomach got in the way and he just slid back down to the floor. “Fuck,” he said softly.  
  
“Sam?” John asked, ready to offer his hand again.  
  
“No!” Sam yelled. He pushed himself to stand up again, but forgetting for a moment about his hand, he pressed his right hand to the floor with his left, screaming out in pain when he tried to push himself up. “Fuck!”  
  
“Sam!” John cried, dropping down to his knees, grabbing onto Sam’s shoulders. “Oh, fuck, Sam. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He grabbed onto Sam’s right hand gently, lifting it up. “Shit. Okay, Sam, I’m getting your sling.”  
  
Sam just sobbed even harder now, from the pain, as John stood up and ran into the living room, grabbing Sam’s sling off the couch. He ran back to Sam and handed the sling to Sam. “Can you do this by yourself?”  
  
Sam nodded then took the sling from him. “Yeah, I can do this. I’ve done this.” He slipped the sling over his head then pulled on it with his left hand, getting it in position to slip his right hand in. He continued to sob, falling forward into John’s chest, tears soaking John’s shirt.   
  
John sighed into Sam’s hair and pulled him closer. “My baby boy,” he said softly, holding Sam as close as he could. “God, Sammy, I wish I could make everything better for you.”  
  
Sam continued to cry, wrapping his good arm around John’s neck. “I love you, Dad.”  
  
John nodded. “I know, I know. I love you too.” He pressed a kiss to Sam’s head then wrapped his arms around his waist. “I’m gonna help you up now, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded then stood up with John, keeping his arm around him. “Thank you,” he said softly.  
  
“It’s okay Sammy,” John said, pulling a bit away. “Come on, let’s take you to bed, okay?” He pushed open the door to Sam’s room, turning on the lights. “Okay, you undress and I’m gonna go get you a painkiller. I’ll be right back.” He ran into the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet to grab the painkillers the doctor had prescribed. He went out to the kitchen and got a glass of water then walked back to the bedroom, where Sam had his jeans off and his arm out of his sling, awkwardly trying to get his t-shirt over his head. He set the glass of water and pills down on the dresser then walked back over to Sam. “Lemme help you there, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded slowly and smiled weakly as John grasped onto his right arm, helping it through the sleeve. Next, he pulled the shirt over Sam’s head, dropping it on the floor by his jeans. “You okay?” He glanced down at the mattress then back up at Sam. “We’re going to get you a bed frame, okay? Before Dean gets back. His ankle and with the baby, it’s gonna be really hard for both of you to get up.”  
  
Sam nodded again then yawned loudly.   
  
John smiled then walked back over to the dresser, getting the pills and water. “Here ya go, Sammy.” He placed the pills in Sam’s good hand, letting him pop them in his mouth before he handed him the water.   
  
Sam swallowed the pills down and finished the rest of the water. He handed the glass back to John then walked slowly over to the mattress, letting John help him lay down.   
  
“You okay?” John asked, crouching by the bed.  
  
Sam nodded sleepily and yawned, stretching his good arm up above his head. “I’m sorry, Dad.”  
  
John smiled slightly and reached out, ruffling Sam’s hair. “It’s okay Sammy. And it’s _going_ to be okay. You get some sleep, okay?” He stood up then began walking towards the door, before Sam’s call for him made him stop. “Yeah?”  
  
“Do you work tomorrow?” Sam asked, voice sounding weak and tired.  
  
John shook his head. “No. So if you need me tomorrow, I’ll be around and it’s okay to wake me up tonight, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Okay. Night, Dad.” He sighed then rolled over onto his side. Even though Dean wasn’t there, Sam still laid only on his side of the bed.  
  
“Night, Sammy,” John said softly, walking out of the bedroom, leaving the door open just a bit. He walked back out to the kitchen, dropping the glass into the sink. He sighed then leaned against the counter, rubbing his eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck.” He sighed again then pushed himself off the counter, going back the dining table, sitting down. He took a drink of his beer and picked up his piece of pizza, but he had suddenly lost his appetite. John dropped the slice back on the plate and took another drink of his beer.   
  
John pushed his chair back from the table and glanced down the hall, deciding he could leave Sam alone for at least a little while. He slipped his feet in his boots and grabbed the keys to the truck. He had a feeling that beer just wasn’t going to be strong enough, not tonight. 


	29. Chapter 29

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 29/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** New Year's Eve; Sam once again, begins to doubt Dean's love for him; Dean finally comes home  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the _Mpreg EPIC!!_

 

“So what’s your resolution going to be?” Sam asked, looking down from the ceiling to glance at Dean.  
  
“High-resolution, HDTV,” Dean answered, glancing down at Sam, before giving him a quick peck on the nose. He cleared his throat and rubbed Sam’s stomach gently, giving him another kiss.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes, before snuggling in closer to Dean. “No, I’m-- I’m serious here, Dean. I mean, you don’t _have_ to have a resolution, I was just wondering, if you did what it would be.”  
  
“Well, what’s yours?” Dean asked softly, running his fingers up and down Sam’s bare arm. “You seem like the kind of guy to have a resolution.”  
  
Sam sighed and reached up with his left hand, linking fingers with Dean. “I don’t know yet. Everything I think of sounds so stupid, not like real resolutions.”   
  
“It’s not stupid,” Dean told him, wanting to tighten his hold on Sam but was afraid of his broken hand. “Tell me … if you want.”  
  
Sam sighed again and shifted under Dean’s grasp. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think, like, ‘be a good father’, but isn’t that just a given? Of course I’m going to try to be a good father. And then I think, ‘be a good son’.”  
  
Dean bit his lip, not sure what to say. He swallowed hard then pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “That’s a good one. What’s wrong with that one?”  
  
“I already _am_ a good son,” Sam answered. “Sure, I disagree with him and we fight, but it doesn’t make me a bad son.”  
  
Dean sighed. “Okay, fine, so don’t choose that one, whatever. Think of something else. How about…promise to lose your baby weight; or something like that?”  
  
“‘Cause that’s what every housewife in America is promising to do,” Sam muttered. “And I am _not_ a housewife.”  
  
Dean grinned. “Yeah, yeah, I know. So, okay, we’ll sleep on it. It’s only New Year’s Eve. We still have New Year’s to make one.”  
  
Sam nodded then yawned against Dean’s chest. “What time is it now?”  
  
Dean glanced at his watch. “Just a few more seconds now Sammy.”  
  
“You know, staying up late for New Year’s Eve was such a big deal when we were--”  
  
“Happy New Year’s, Sammy,” Dean said softly, smiling against Sam’s forehead.   
  
“Happy New Year’s, Dean,” Sam answered, lifting his head to give Dean a slow, sweet kiss. “Can I go to sleep now?”   
  
Dean nodded, chuckling softly. “You can go sleep now.” He began running his fingers through Sam’s hair, almost petting him, until he heard Sam’s breathing even out and the soft snoring began. “I love you, Sammy.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Do you have any sevens?”  
  
Sam glanced at his hand then shook his head. “Go fish.”  
  
Dean groaned then grabbed the card off the top of the deck. “I can’t believe that not only was I reduced to playing Go Fish, I’m losing. To my little brother.” He sighed, “God, how depressing.”  
  
Sam smiled then rolled his eyes. “Got any sixes?”  
  
Dean groaned again then handed the card to Sam. “Sammy…”  
  
Sam set his cards down then grabbed the card he knew was his six and set both of them down. He picked his cards back up and looked up at Dean from his cards. “Yeah?”  
  
Dean pouted. “I wanna go back to work,” he whined. “Come _on_ …lemme go back to work.”  
  
“Got any fives?” Sam asked. He repeated the same process of setting his cards down and then taking the card from Dean and setting both cards down. “Dean, you’re not even out of the hospital yet. Give it time.”  
  
“I _am_ giving it time!” Dean snapped. “I’ve been in the hospital for-- what’s the date?”  
  
“The eighteenth,” Sam answered quickly. “Got any threes?”  
  
Dean sighed then handed the card over. “For almost two months. Like, six days away from two months. I mean, god, Sam, when are they going to let me out of here?”  
  
“Soon,” Sam assured him. “I promise. Dean, the doctors are almost ready to let you out. I swear. They said maybe it could be your birthday present. May-- maybe you can come home on your birthday.”  
  
“I wanna be home now,” Dean muttered. He handed his last card off to Sam and shifted on the bed, laying down more. At Sam’s puzzled look, he said, “You were just going to win anyway.”  
  
Sam sighed then began rearranging the cards with his one hand, his version of shuffling. “Dean, I know that being in the hospital is depressing, okay? But really, once you get out, back to work…it’ll be fine. I mean, Christ, you think I’m having fun home alone with Dad?”  
  
Dean laughed. “Give him a break, Sammy. He’s not hunting; he doesn’t know what to do with himself.”  
  
Sam smiled slightly then stacked the cards into a neat pile, picking them up and dropping them on Dean’s food tray. “I asked him, what he thought about us not being able to hunt anymore.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah I figured with you two the topic was bound to come up sometime. What’d he say?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Well, to paraphrase, he never pictured us hunting and even though it might’ve been a bad choice, he realizes now that if he had made a different one, we probably wouldn’t have what we have. Still doesn’t help much now though, does it?” His head dropped forward and he began picking at the splint that he still wore.  
  
Dean reached out to play with the ends of Sam’s hair, causing him to look up at him. “Sammy, it’s okay. I…I don’t mind our life, the hunting, everything. But Dad’s right, if he had chosen to just, raise us normally, we wouldn’t be who we are now. I like who I am and I _love_ who you are.”  
  
Sam smiled then reached up to grasp Dean’s hand. He pulled the hand down to his lap, playing with the long fingers, rubbing the calluses, stroking the scars. The skin was rough beneath his fingers and he smiled to himself, fingers tracing the lifeline on Dean’s palm.   
  
Dean watched Sam intently as he played with his hand, not quite sure what Sam was doing. He sighed then shifted on the bed, but didn’t pull his arm back. “Sammy…what are you doing?”  
  
Sam didn’t look up at first, just continued on with Dean’s hand, before he let go a few moments later and sighed, looking up at Dean. “I thought it was something special,” he said softly.  
  
Dean had _no_ idea was Sam was talking about and it showed on his face. “I-- what?”  
  
“Your hand,” Sam answered simply. “I thought…I thought it would be something special. But it’s not. I just…I don’t know. Maybe it _is_ just a hand. Maybe mine-- maybe mine is just a hand too.”  
  
Dean bit his lip then sighed. “Yeah, it’s just a hand, Sam. It’s just a hand and it’s just an ankle. We’re going to be fine. It’s going to be fine.” He sat up and leaned forward, moving his hands to cup Sam’s cheeks, pulling him in for a kiss. He traced along Sam’s lips with his tongue, waiting for Sam to open up his mouth for him.  
  
Sam reached up with his left hand and rested it on Dean’s right, moving his mouth against Dean’s slowly, before opening his mouth slightly, allowing Dean’s tongue to slip in. He moaned softly, the sound muffled by Dean’s mouth. He pulled away from Dean, just their lips parting, but their hands stayed up, foreheads resting together. “Love you,” he said softly, his lips brushing against Dean’s when he spoke.   
  
“I love you too,” Dean told him, moving his hands down from Sam’s face to wrap around Sam’s neck, pulling him in to his chest.   
  
“Thank you,” Sam murmured into Dean’s hospital garb. “I want you to come back home.”  
  
Dean smiled into Sam’s hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Like you said, I’ll be home soon. And I will be, I promise. I _promise_.”  
  
Sam nodded then pressed a kiss to Dean’s neck, taking a deep breath, inhaling the scent that was Dean. “I don’t know what to do there, without you. Dad and I are definitely not the two to live alone together.”  
  
Dean chuckled then pressed a kiss to Sam’s forehead. “I guess we’re not getting to Vegas for my birthday, now.”  
  
Sam pulled back from Dean, a look of disbelief on his face. “You remember that?”  
  
“Of course I remembered that!” Dean proclaimed. “I was looking forward to it. You, me, a nice hotel room…I was excited.”  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow and glanced down at Dean’s lap. “Yeah, I’d say so.”  
  
“Shut up,” Dean muttered, grabbing his blanket to pull it up over his lap. “You know what? After I get out of here, I’m gonna take you to a hotel anyway.”  
  
“Yeah?” Sam asked softly.  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, maybe for Valentine’s Day; something romantic … would you like that?”  
  
Sam nodded slowly, a smile growing on his face. “ _Yeah_ , I’d like that. Sounds nice.” He leaned forward and gave Dean a quick kiss. “You sure that you’re…you know, going to wanna do _that_?”  
  
“Um, hello, it’s me. Just ‘cause I had a brain injury doesn’t mean I’ve completely lost myself, Sam,” Dean said. “Of _course_ I’m going to wanna do that. I told ya, I’m excited. Wa-- wait? Do _you_ not want to do that?”  
  
Sam shrugged and his eyes dropped, as if ashamed, or embarrassed. “I…I don’t know,” he finally admitted, voice quiet. “I really don’t know.”  
  
Dean reached out to nudge Sam’s chin up, to make him look at him, but Sam pulled away, eyes shooting up to look at Dean. “Sammy, are you okay?”  
  
Sam shrugged again and bit his lip. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “I mean, I want to be…with you, but I don’t know how much you’ll want to be with me, when you see me.”  
  
Dean sighed then rubbed his face, almost exasperated with Sam. “Sam--”  
  
“Don’t,” Sam interrupted, shaking his head. “I know. I _know_. Dad told me not worry about it, that you told him you’d love me no matter what. And I know that you’ve told me that before and Dad said that you’ve seen pregnant women, so you knew what I was going to look like and you didn’t leave me or anything, so I shouldn’t be worried but--” he took a deep breath, “I guess I still am. Don’t tell me it’s stupid!”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Of course I won’t say it’s stupid. It’s not…I guess. I don’t know. I’m just not used to you being self-conscious. The Sammy I always knew was pretty damn confident, and rightly so. So what, you’ve put on a little weight. That’s okay. You’re still the most gorgeous man I know.”  
  
Sam sighed and a barely there blush began to spread on his cheeks. “Thank you,” he said softly, resisting the urge to stick his thumb in his mouth to gnaw on the end. “I’m sorry I’m all depressing, bringing you down.”  
  
“Pfft,” Dean snorted. “Depressing? Dude, we’re in a hospital; doesn’t get much more depressing than that … maybe a funeral home. And anyway, it’s okay. We need to get these things out in the open. Honesty is the best policy. We’re not just brothers anymore, Sammy. We can talk about these things.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” Sam muttered. Now he actually was embarrassed. Even though they still weren’t _just_ brothers, they were _still_ brothers. And most brothers didn’t talk about this kind of thing.   
  
“And Dad’s right, in case you were wondering,” Dean continued. “I’ve seen pregnant women before; I knew you were going to get a tummy. I knew and I didn’t care. I don’t care. I care that it makes you like…this, though.”  
  
“I get my splint off soon,” Sam said quietly. “You’re going to have to look at my hand, too.”  
  
“Sam, there is _nothing_ wrong with the way your hand looks,” Dean exclaimed. “God, Sam, it’s just a hand. I don’t care! So what? What about my ankle? Are you going to stop loving me because I’m going to walk with a limp?”  
  
Sam shook his head furiously. “No! No of course not. I’m going to love you no matter what.”  
  
“Exactly,” Dean pointed out. “You’re going to love me no matter what. Well, it works both ways, okay? Sam, I don’t want to seem mean, or uncaring, or something, but really…give it up. Calm down. So what? So what, you’re fat and you have a limp hand. Big friggin’ deal.”  
  
Sam’s jaw dropped slightly and his eyes began to fill with tears as he fought to keep his bottom lip from trembling. “I can’t believe you just--”  
  
“Sam, I am going to love you for _ever_ ,” Dean said slowly, trying to drill the point in. “Okay? Not forever except when you gain some weight. Not forever except when you get your hand broken, while trying to protect me, if I may point out.” He sighed then leaned forward, resting his forehead against Sam’s. “Not forever except for when you doubt that I love you.”  
  
Sam smiled sadly and a couple tears spilled over, running quickly down his cheeks. “I don’t doubt that you _love_ me, I just doubt that you’re…going to want to have sex with me.”  
  
“I’m Dean Winchester,” Dean said, smiling. “I’m _always_ gonna want to have sex, especially with you. And don’t ever doubt it for a second, ever again.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Okay.”  
  
“Okay?” Dean asked. “You promise?”  
  
Sam nodded again. “I promise.”  
  
“Good.” Dean gave Sam a quick peck on the nose then pulled him in for a hug. “Now come on, let’s play another game of Go Fish before Dad comes and takes you away.”  
  
Sam smiled then reached over and handed Dean the cards to deal.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Is that your phone?” John called from the kitchen.   
  
“I think so!” Sam called back, running down the hall to his bedroom, trying to find his phone. He grabbed it off the dresser, yelling back to John, “I got it!” He went back to the phone, checking the caller ID. It was the hospital. “Uh, hello?”  
  
“Is this Sexy McHot-Sex?” the voice on the other end asked.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and leaned against the dresser. “It depends. Is this Dean Winchester?”  
  
“Why, hello Mister Sexy McHot-Sex,” Dean said, the smile in his voice evident. “So what are you and Dad doing?”  
  
Sam pushed himself off the dresser and walked out of the bedroom and down the hallway, glancing in the kitchen. “I guess he’s making supper. I was watching TV. Why, what’s going on?”  
  
“I think you need to come pick me up,” Dean answered.   
  
“Pick you up?” Sam repeated loudly. John glanced back at him. “Are you-- are you serious?”  
  
“Yeah, I’m serious,” Dean told him. “The doctors gave me the okay. I’m coming home, if you’ll take me.”  
  
“Of-- of course I’ll take you!” Sam assured him. “Oh my god, Dean, this is awesome.” He sat down at the kitchen table. “You’re coming home.”  
  
“He’s coming home?” John asked, dropping his dishcloth down on the counter. “What? When? Today?”  
  
Sam glanced up at John and nodded. “When can we get you?”  
  
“Whenever you want,” Dean replied. “The doctors said they’d leave it up to me to call you, to make you happy. So you’re going to come, right?”  
  
“Of course we’re going to come,” Sam told him. “God, Dean, why wouldn’t we? I-- Dad can come get you and I can finish making supper and then we can all eat together. Does that sound okay?”  
  
“Well, I thought that you’d come get me, but yeah, I guess it sounds okay,” Dean agreed, “As long as you’re there when I get there.”  
  
Sam nodded, a smile growing on his face. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I’ll be here.”  
  
“Okay then,” Dean said. “Give Dad the keys and start cooking my supper!”  
  
Sam chuckled softly. “I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too,” Dean told him. “And I’m going to be home, soon. Bye.”  
  
“Bye,” Sam said softly. He turned off his phone and sighed, glancing up at John. “He’s coming home.” His smile grew into a grin. “He’s coming home!”  
  
“I heard,” John said, taking a sit beside Sam. “Am I going to pick him up now?”  
  
Sam nodded. “I can’t believe he’s coming home. He hasn’t been home in two months. I-- I don’t know. I guess I just got used to the idea of being without him. But now he’s coming home.” He sighed and dropped his head. When he lifted it again a moment later, his eyes were shining with tears. “This isn’t a dream, is it?”  
  
John smiled and shook his head. “He’s coming home. In a few minutes, once I get out of here. You gonna be okay by yourself?”  
  
Sam nodded, still in a daze. “Yeah.”  
  
“You gonna be able to finish supper?” John asked, standing up to grab his jacket.   
  
Sam nodded again. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. Just-- just go get him.”  
  
John sighed then walked back over to Sam, ruffling his hair, before leaning down to press a kiss to Sam’s head. “I’m going to get him. If he calls back about something, just call me, okay?”  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Sam said. He sighed then glanced back up at John. “Don’t be too long.”  
  
“I won’t,” John said. “Be back soon.” He slipped his feet into his boots then gave a goodbye smile before leaving the apartment.  
  
“God,” Sam said softly as the door closed. He leaned his head back and he sighed. “He’s coming back.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Honey, I’m home!”  
  
Sam shot up off the couch, running into the entryway. “Dean!” He grabbed onto Dean, pulling him in tightly, burying his head in Dean’s neck. “You’re back. You’re back.” He pressed a kiss to Dean’s neck and squeezed him even harder. “You’re back.”  
  
Dean chuckled softly and nodded, reaching up to pat Sam on the back. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” He pulled away from Sam and gave him a quick kiss, before pulling back, smiling against Sam’s lips. “Now come on, let me get in the apartment.”  
  
“Oh, sorry,” Sam apologized, taking a few steps back out of the entryway. Once he could see all of Dean, he noticed something that he hadn’t before.  
  
A cane.  
  
“What-- what’s that?” Sam asked softly, gesturing to the cane.  
  
Dean glanced down at the stick in his hand and shrugged. “Makes me looks distinguished, wouldn’t you say?” He crossed his legs at the ankle and leaned against the cane, striking a pose.  
  
“It’s a cane,” Sam said. He looked up at John, who was standing behind Dean, toeing off his shoes. “He has a cane.”  
  
“Yup,” John agreed, nodding. “The doctors gave it to him. Come on Dean, get out of my way.” He waited for Dean to limp out of the entryway, leaning heavily on the cane, before walking out and into the kitchen to check on the supper. “Supper go well, Sam?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Uh, yeah. It’s all done.”  
  
“Making supper now, Sammy?” Dean asked in surprise. “Wow. You’ve changed.”  
  
Sam shrugged and took another step back as Dean stepped forward. “Two months.”  
  
Dean looked a bit taken aback from Sam’s stepping back, but he quickly recovered. “Yeah. So, show me around. Anything else around here changed?”  
  
“Uh-- uh, we…we got a bed frame for the bed,” Sam answered. “Well, Dad got one for us.”  
  
“Well lead the way, Sammy,” Dean said, a smile on his face.  
  
Sam stood still for a long moment, before he snapped out of it. “Uh, yeah. Come on.” He walked slowly down the hall, not sure how fast Dean could follow him. He pushed open the bedroom door and flicked on the lights. “There it is.” He glanced back at Dean and stepped further in to make room for him.   
  
Dean nodded slowly, examining the bed. He walked over, Sam almost wincing every time Dean limped. “I like it. What about you?” He turned back around to Sam. “You like it?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Ye-- yeah. I mean, it’s a nice bed.”  
  
Dean smiled. “Probably be even nicer when we’re in it together.” He winked. “I see you still have your splint on.”  
  
Sam glanced down at his hand and nodded slowly. “Uh, yeah. They…they told me I could take it off, but I really don’t want to.” He shook his head. “It’s really not that big of a deal. So how are you, are you feeling okay? Does your head hurt?”  
  
Dean shook his head. “Head’s fine, it’s all fine. So what’d you make for supper?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Spaghetti. Dad started it; I just had to finish it. If we had known you were going to be coming home, we would’ve had something different, something that you like more.”  
  
“It’s fine, Sammy,” Dean assured him, walking back over to Sam. “I’m just happy to be back here, with you. And Dad too, of course,” he smiled, “but mainly you. I don’t care what we have for supper. For two months I’ve been eating hospital food, so as long as there’s no green Jell-O…”  
  
Sam smiled. “Don’t worry. Now uh, I guess we should get back out there, supper’s ready.” He turned and began to walk before he felt Dean’s arm on him. “Yeah?”  
  
Dean turned Sam around then pushed himself up on his cane and pressed his lips to Sam’s, waiting for Sam to kiss him back.   
  
Sam made a small startled sound, but soon recovered and brought his left hand up to Dean’s neck, pulling him in closer. “I love you.”  
  
Dean smiled then gave Sam another quick kiss. “I love you too. Now come on, I’m starving.” He pushed by Sam and limped out of the room and up the hallway.   
  
Sam sighed then rubbed his eyes, before glancing down at his right hand. “It’s just a hand,” he said softly, before bringing it up. The splint came off easily, the doctors already showing him how to take it off. He dropped the splint then lifted his hand to examine it. He tried to flex his fingers, but they barely moved. At least it didn’t hurt anymore. Sam sighed again then wiped at his eyes, clearing his throat. “It’s just a hand.” He glanced down at the splint on the floor then made his way out of the bedroom.


	30. Chapter 30

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 30/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** Dean's birthday  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the Mpreg EPIC!!  
 

 

“Sammy.” Then, something wet on his cheeks.  
  
Sam groaned and tried to roll away from the sound, but something was holding onto his waist, holding him close. He sighed then stretched out, toes sticking out from the under the sheets. “What?”  
  
“Guess how old I am today,” Dean said softly, setting his head on Sam’s shoulder. “Do ya know?”  
  
“Twenty-eight,” Sam said softly, eyes finally flickering open, to the sight of Dean hovering over him, a large grin on his face. “You’re twenty-eight.”  
  
Dean nodded then gave Sam another kiss on the cheek. “And you’re still only twenty-three. Hmm, isn’t that a shame?”  
  
“Shut up, Dean,” Sam muttered, grabbing his pillow to cover his face. “Lemme go back to sleep.”  
  
“No,” Dean said simply, grabbing the pillow from Sam. “Not until you say, ‘I’m the annoying little brother’.”  
  
Sam snorted then once again, tried to roll away from Dean, but he still had his arm wrapped around his waist. “Dean, lemme go back to sleep. Please. I’m tired. What time is it anyway?”  
  
“I don’t know, like five-thirty, or something,” Dean answered. “I know, I know. It’s early. But it’s my birthday. I love my birthday.”  
  
“I didn’t get you anything,” Sam told him, looking him in the eyes. “I would’ve, but I don’t really get out much. I’m sorry.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “It’s okay. Just say ‘I’m the annoying little brother’ and I’ll let you go back to sleep. Say it. Say it.”’  
  
Sam shook his head. “Would you get off me? Christ, you’re clingy.” He sat up and shook Dean off him. “You woke me up at five-thirty. This couldn’t’ve waited until, at least, ten?”  
  
Dean smiled and shook his head. “Say it. Say, ‘I, Samuel--”  
  
Sam groaned at the use of his real name.  
  
“--Winchester, am Dean’s annoying little brother,” Dean finished. “Come on, it’s true, you may as well admit it.”  
  
“You wake me up at five-thirty and won’t let me get back to sleep until I say that I’m annoying and _I’m_ the annoying one?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Now let go of me and let me go back to sleep.”  
  
“Not until you say it, Sammy!” Dean said, a whine coming into his voice. “Come on, please?”  
  
Sam sighed then rubbed at his eyes. “I, Sam Winchester--” he stopped at the look of disapproval on Dean’s face. “Fine. I, _Samuel_ Winchester, am Dean’s annoying little brother. There, happy?”  
  
Dean smiled. “Now, say that you bow down to Dean, the greatest older brother in the world and that you should be honoured to breathe the same air as me.”  
  
Sam snorted then finally bent his head down and bit Dean’s arm.  
  
“Ow!” Dean cried, sitting up quickly, rubbing his arm. “What the hell, Sam?”  
  
Sam smirked then moved away from Dean. “Let me get back to sleep,” he muttered, closing his eyes.   
  
Dean sighed then lay back down, looking up at the ceiling. He yawned then rolled over, spooning up behind Sam “hey, Sammy?”  
  
Sam groaned and lifted his head, glancing back at Dean “yeah?”  
  
Dean bit his lip and nudged Sam in the ribs. “Come on, Sammy…”  
  
Sam sighed and smiled, before pressing his lips to Dean’s in a quick kiss. “Happy Birthday, Dean.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam woke up only a couple hours later, to knocking on the bedroom door. “Oh Christ,” Sam muttered, as he felt Dean push himself off the mattress.   
  
Dean opened the door a crack then pulled it open all the way. “Morning, Dad.” He yawned then leaned against the doorframe. “What’s up?”  
  
“You hungry?” John asked, a slight smile on his face.   
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam pulled his jacket even tighter, slouching down in the booth. “It’s too early for this.”  
  
Dean smiled and glanced at Sam. “Come on, Sam. It’s the only time Dad could take us out. He’s gotta go to work.”  
  
“I know,” Sam began, “but it’s like, seven-thirty. I haven’t been up at seven-thirty in forever.” He sighed then yawned, cutting into his waffle with his fork. He took a bite then glanced over at Dean, who was watching him, a smile still on his face. “What?” he asked, voice muffled from the food.  
  
Dean just shrugged then took a bite of his own waffle. He swallowed then grabbed his coffee. “You don’t have to hide your stomach,” Dean said finally, glancing down at where Sam’s jacket was pulled tightly around him.  
  
Sam glanced down at his stomach then glanced across the booth at John, who was taking a drink of his coffee. “Yes, I do,” he said softly, taking another bite of his waffle. He chewed slowly then swallowed hard, dropping his fork to take a sip of orange juice. He sighed then cut off another piece of waffle. “I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
Dean sighed then glanced over at John, who was watching them both intently. “So uh … thanks for breakfast, Dad,” Dean said, changing the subject.  
  
John nodded slowly, before taking another drink of coffee. “No problem. It’s your birthday, least I could do. So, how you plan on spending it?”  
  
Dean shrugged, “me and Sammy, hanging around the house. I don’t know. Maybe we’ll watch a movie or something, huh Sam?”  
  
Sam looked over at Dean, before nodding. “Yeah, okay. Whatever.” He took another drink of his orange juice. “I’ll probably go back to sleep when we get back to the apartment,” he said quietly.  
  
Dean smiled and John chuckled softly. “That’s okay, Sammy,” Dean told him. “Will you hand me that paper there?” he nodded towards the paper the waitress had set on the edge of the table when she brought them their order.  
  
Sam sighed and automatically reached out with his right hand to grab the paper, before looking over at John, who was watching him, eyes wide. Sam swallowed then dropped his arm back by his side, grabbing the paper with his left, passing it to Dean quickly. He gave John a slight smile, before reaching down, pulling his sleeve as far over his right hand as it could go.  
  
Dean held onto the paper, but kept his eyes on Sam, who seemed to avoiding his gaze and had his eyes on the counter. Dean’s tongue came out to lick his lips and he shifted his gaze from Sam across the booth to John, who was also watching Sam. Dean set the paper down on the table and reached his hand out to Sam’s shoulder.  
  
Sam jerked and pulled away, but still didn’t look back at him. “I’m fine,” he assured him softly, but there was a rough edge to his voice, almost anger.   
  
Dean drew his hand back slowly, looking over at John, who was now watching him, coffee mug at his mouth, but not drinking. “O-- okay,” Dean said, deciding not to press the issue for now. He turned back to the paper and opened it up. “Who’s my basketball team again?”  
  
John looked over at Sam, who had his head down, probably inspecting his hand, or trying not to cry. He sighed then shifted in his seat, taking a drink of his coffee before answering Dean. “Spurs.”  
  
Dean nodded slowly, scanning the page. “Yeah, thanks.” He set the paper down and glanced at his watch. “Since you have to drop us back off at the apartment, we should probably get going now, huh?”  
  
John glanced at his own watch and nodded, setting his coffee mug down. “You boys finish up your waffles, I’ll go pay.” He slid out of the booth and walked over to the counter.   
  
Sam turned in his seat and picked up his fork again, stabbing it into the last piece of waffle. He looked over at Dean, who was back to reading the paper and brought the waffle to his mouth. He chewed slowly then glanced up as John walked back over to them.   
  
“You done, Sammy?” John asked, grabbing his jacket.  
  
Sam glanced down at his empty plate, thinking it was pretty obvious that he was and nodded. “Thanks for breakfast, Dad,” he said quietly, standing up and moving out of the way for Dean to slide out. Sam watched as Dean reached back into the booth and grabbed his cane, leaning on it as he waited for them to leave.  
  
“No problem, Sammy” John told him, before turning around, leading his sons out of the diner. They all walked silently to the truck; John climbing in the driver’s side, Dean slowly then Sam going in the passenger’s.  
  
Cane between his legs, Dean automatically went for the radio, turning it to his favourite classic rock station. He began humming to the music, bobbing his head up and down. “Come on, Sammy, sing with me.”  
  
Sam lifted his head from the window and scrunched up his nose, shaking his head. “No thanks, Dean.” He leaned his head against the glass again, watching as their town went by.   
  
“Sam.”  
  
He was jolted awake by Dean’s voice in his ear. “Whasgoinon?”  
  
“We drive for three minutes and you fall asleep,” Dean answered; a smile in his voice. “That’s what’s going on. Now come on, get out so I can.”  
  
Sam yawned and fumbled for the door, before managing to grab onto the handle, pushing it open. He stumbled out, still half asleep. Dean climbed out behind him, using the cane to help him out and closed the door. “Could’ve let me sleep,” Sam mumbled, leaning against the truck for a moment before remembering John was about to pull away. He pushed himself off the truck and stepped away, waving at John as he pulled back out of the parking garage.  
  
“I could’ve,” Dean began, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shoulder, walking him through the courtyard, to the stairwell leading up to their apartment, “but where would the fun in that be?” He held open the door to the stairwell for Sam and walked in behind him.   
  
Sam walked slowly up the stairs, glancing behind him every couple steps to make sure Dean wasn’t having too much trouble.   
  
“I’m fine,” Dean assured him, noticing Sam watching him. “Got my cane, got this rail, I’m fine.”  
  
Sam sighed and nodded, but kept walking slowly and couldn’t help glancing back. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, once they made it to the landing. “I just-- I’m not used to the cane.”  
  
Dean shrugged and then pulled open the door to their hallway. “It’s fine, Sam,” he told him. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” He let the door to the hallway close behind them and he limped behind Sam, walking to their apartment.  
  
Sam shook his head and shoved his hand into his pocket, grabbing his keys. He glanced back at Dean, opening the apartment door. “I don’t really want to go back to sleep now,” Sam told him, pushing open the door. “It’s okay.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked, closing the door behind them. “Well, don’t do it for me, Sammy, if you want to go back to sleep--”  
  
“Actually,” Sam cut in, “I kind of … I just wanna lie down.”  
  
Dean nodded, reaching down to untie his shoes. “Okay. Well, I’ll keep it quiet out here.”  
  
Sam sighed then nodded slowly. “Whatever. I just…” He was trying to figure out how to say that he wanted Dean to lay down with him. “I won’t be too long.”  
  
Dean smiled up at Sam then pushed himself up on his cane, giving him a quick kiss. “Okay.”  
  
Sam faked a smile back then turned and walked down the hallway, going into their bedroom, almost slamming the door behind him. He leaned against the door, eyes squeezed shut. He took a deep breath, before pushing himself off the door. He walked over to their bed, sitting down; head in his hands. “It wasn’t supposed to be this hard,” he muttered, shaking his head. “We were supposed to be happier like this.” Sam sighed then reached down and pulled off his socks, before lying back on the bed, one hand on his stomach. He pulled up the blanket and snuggled into the bed, letting his eyes close.  
  
Dean made his way into the kitchen, going to the refrigerator to get a drink. He grabbed the can of juice and closed the refrigerator door, making his way into the living room. He found the remote and turned on the television, not sure exactly what was on at eight in the morning. He stopped on a news channel, wanting to know what was going on in the world these days.   
  
“And in latest news, the trials of the seven men charged in connection to the gay-bashing at the theatre in have once again, been delayed,” the reporter said. “While their separate lawyers are considering filing for severing the trials, prosecutors are considering amending the charges--”  
  
Dean changed the channel quickly, making sure to stay away from any news reports. He finally settled on an old episode of Saved By The Bell.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam yawned and clumsily pushed himself up. He rubbed at his eyes and pushed his hair back, out of his eyes. He swung his legs off the bed and made his way out of the bedroom and down the hall, seeing Dean on the couch. “Hey,” he said softly, shifting on his feet, leaning against the wall.  
  
Dean glanced up at Sam, a smile on his face. “You want lunch?” he asked, reaching for his cane, ready to push himself up.   
  
Sam shook his head and walked over to the couch, sitting down carefully beside him. “Not hungry yet.” He sighed then glanced down at his stomach, eyes opening wide.  
  
“Sam?” Dean asked, concern creeping into his voice. “What’s wrong?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “N-- nothing. It’s happened before.”  
  
Dean’s eyes filled with confusion. “ _What_ has happened before?”   
  
Sam reached out and grasped onto Dean’s hand, bringing it to his stomach. “Just wait.”  
  
“Sam?” Dean asked after a few moments.  
  
Sam looked up at Dean slowly. “I think it’s the baby; kicking … or something. I meant-- I meant to tell you, but … I don’t know, I always forgot and everything else seemed so much more important.”  
  
Dean watched Sam’s stomach, waiting for the baby to kick again. “Does it hurt? When it kicks?”  
  
Sam shook his head, “no, not really. It’s pretty tiny, I think.”  
  
Dean took a deep breath then pressed his hand a little harder, careful not to press too hard. After a few more moments, his eyes opened wide. “Whoa,” he said softly in awe. “That-- that’s our baby.”  
  
Sam smiled and nodded. “I know. He’s like, an actual person now. He’s our baby.”  
  
Dean smiled back, before once again confused. “He? How-- how do you know it’s a boy?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. He feels like a boy. He’s our son.”  
  
“Our son,” Dean said softly, looking back down at Sam’s stomach. “You really think it’s a boy?”  
  
Sam nodded again. “Yeah, I do. Our baby boy.” He sighed and smiled, giving Dean a slow kiss, the smile still on his lips. “So what movie did you want to watch?”  
  
Dean’s eyes opened wide. “Sam! This is our baby. It’s our son. I don’t want to watch a movie. I want to feel our baby. I can’t believe you can feel this all the time.” He sighed then sat back a bit. “I wish I could do this.”  
  
“Do what?” Sam asked.  
  
“You’re with our baby all the time. I wish I could be with him all the time, wish I could feel him,” Dean explained. “I feel left out.”  
  
Sam smiled then gave Dean another kiss. “Don’t feel left out, _really_. It’s not that big of a deal. Well, I mean, yeah, it is, I’m pregnant, but … I don’t know. The novelty wears off a bit.”  
  
“You get to take him everywhere,” Dean continued. “You’re never alone. Even when you are … you’re not.”  
  
Sam’s smile grew even larger and he reached out to run his fingers through Dean’s hair. “Okay, well, I promise that _next_ time we get attacked by a demon and gives us the ability to get pregnant, _you_ can bottom, okay?”  
  
Dean chuckled softly then leaned down, pressing a kiss to Sam’s stomach through the t-shirt. “Okay, deal. Now come on, it’s my birthday and I wanna watch a movie.” He pushed himself up off the couch and limped over to the television, leaning down to look at their movies. “You wanna watch ‘The Shining’?” Dean asked, glancing back at Sam, a large grin on his face.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed, but nodded anyway. “Yeah, okay, since it’s your birthday and everything.”  
  
Dean’s smile grew and he turned back to the television, popping the disc into the DVD player. He pressed play then grabbed the remote, walking back over to the couch. He flopped down beside Sam and waited for the main menu to come up. “By the time it’s your birthday, we’ll have a baby. Our baby.”  
  
Sam smiled then rubbed his stomach. “Yeah, I know. But I’m just glad that we’re both okay again and that everything’s … well, it’s going to be okay.”  
  
Dean smiled again, up at Sam then turned on the movie. “I’m going to make you love this movie, Sammy.”  
  
Sam snorted and rolled his eyes. “I highly doubt it, but you can try.”  
  
Dean brought his legs up onto the couch and let his weight lean against Sam’s shoulder and side. “And try I will.” He sighed then lifted his head and reached up to pull on Sam’s hair.   
  
Sam glanced down at Dean. “What?”  
  
Dean shrugged and shook his head, settling back in. “You’re going to have to get that cut, before the baby.” He pulled on it again, to make his point. “Sorry Sammy, but no more long hair.”  
  
Sam snorted and rolled his eyes again. “I don’t think you can make me get my haircut, Dean. Now shh, I wanna watch the movie. Maybe _this_ time will be the time I actually understand it. You never know.”  
  
Dean smiled up at him then looked back to the screen. “It doesn’t actually get interesting till those twin girls show up. Creepy,” he finished in a sing-song voice. “But we’ll talk about the hair later.”  
  
“Dean, I’m not cutting my hair,” Sam told him. “It’s my hair and I don’t want to get it cut.”  
  
“We’ll see.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
John pushed open the door to the apartment with his shoulder, trying not to drop the package in his arms. “You guys here?” he called, kicking off his boots. He walked out of the entrance way and glanced around, seeing Dean standing behind a chair at the dining table, hunched over, doing something with his hands. “Dean?”  
  
Dean turned around, a smile on his face. “Oh hey, Dad.”  
  
“Hi, Dad,” Sam said from the chair.  
  
John walked into the kitchen, not paying any attention to what Dean and Sam were doing. He went to the refrigerator and opened the freezer, placing the package inside. He shut the door and turned around. “What are you two-- Dean, what the hell?”   
  
Dean looked up at him and shrugged. “I told him he needed a haircut.”  
  
John’s jaw dropped slightly and he walked over to the table, sitting down. “Sam? Why-- I thought you liked your hair.”  
  
Sam sighed and looked up at John, slightly embarrassed. “He wore me down.”  
  
John raised an eyebrow. “Wore you down?”  
  
“He kept pulling on my hair, all day,” Sam explained. “He said it was what the baby would do. I don’t know … I think it made sense at the time, but now, not so much.”  
  
John smiled and shook his head, trying not to laugh. “I can’t believe you’re letting Dean cut your hair. Sammy, you could’ve gone to a barber, or something. Don’t you remember what happened the last time he cut your hair?”  
  
“Hey!” Dean protested. “I was seven. I can’t believe you trusted me with those scissors, anyway.”  
  
“Dean, I let you have a rifle,” John pointed out. “I thought I could trust you _not_ to cut your little brother’s hair. But now … I can’t believe Sam trusts you. Sam, do you have any idea what he’s doing?”  
  
“No,” Sam admitted softly, trying not to move his head. “But I mean, how bad could it be? Just as long as he stops pulling on it.”  
  
“It’s going to look fine,” Dean assured him. “I’m not going to make you look bad. So Dad, what’d you put in the freezer?”  
  
John glanced back at the refrigerator, before looking back at them, a grin still on his face. “Just something for after supper.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Sam, I can’t believe you let him do it.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Dad, it’s just hair. And after everything, I think I can trust him to cut my hair.”  
  
“Yeah, Dad. He can trust me,” Dean said, leaning down a bit to get a look at Sam from the front. “Sam, I think that’s it. What do you think Dad?”  
  
John sighed then studied Sam for a moment. “It looks fine, Sam. You did okay, Dean, better than I would’ve thought. Now Dean, what do you want for your birthday supper?”  
  
Dean set down his scissors and took the towel off Sam’s shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to the back of Sam’s neck. “Whatever you want make me, Dad. I really just wanna see what’s in the freezer.”  
  
“You’ll see later,” John told him, pushing his chair back from the table. “Now get out of my kitchen, it’s a surprise.”  
  
Sam smiled then stood up from the table, running his fingers through his newly shorter hair. “Come on, Dean, I wanna see.” He reached out with his left hand and linked fingers with Dean, walking him into the bathroom.   
  
Dean reached up and flicked on the lights and walked to the mirror with Sam. “Well? How much do you hate it?”  
  
Sam sighed and examined himself in the mirror, reaching up to fix his bangs. “I don’t hate it.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked, slightly surprised. “Okay. How much do you not like it?”  
  
Sam turned and leaned against the counter, looking Dean in the eyes. “I don’t not like it. It’s fine, I look fine. Thank you.” He leaned down and gave Dean a quick kiss then looked back to the mirror. “Looks much better than it did when you were seven.”   
  
Dean smiled. “Aw, thanks, Sammy.” He shifted on his feet then reached up to run his fingers through Sam’s hair. “I like it. Makes you look sexy. Well, sexier than usual.”  
  
Sam blushed and his eyes dropped to the floor. “Thanks,” he said softly. “I just-- it’s nice that you still say it.”  
  
Dean smiled then stepped closer to Sam, wrapping an arm around his neck, pulling him down into a hug. “I love you, Sam.”  
  
“I love you too, Dean,” Sam murmured into Dean’s neck, holding him tight with his left arm. He pulled back and gave Dean a peck on the tip of his nose. “Come on; let’s go watch some TV or something before supper.” He led the way out of the bathroom, turning the lights off behind them. They walked out into the living room, going to the couch. Sam lay down, propped up by the arm rest and Dean sat down on the end of the couch, lifting Sam’s feet onto his lap.   
  
It was almost twenty minutes before John called them out into the kitchen for supper. Sam swung his legs of Dean’s lap then used the armrest to push himself up off the couch. He held out his hand for Dean, pulling him up.   
  
“What’d you make, Dad?” Dean asked, limping into the kitchen. “Something good I hope,” he said, sitting down at the table that already had their glasses of milk on it.  
  
Sam sat on one of the seats beside Dean, shuffling closer to the table. “I’m thirsty,” he said quietly, not really to anyone but himself. He reached out and grasped the glass, taking a sip.  
  
“Chicken Caesar salad,” John said, placing a plate and then the bowl in front of Dean. “I know, I know, but I’m not really good at much.”  
  
“Dad, this is awesome!” Dean exclaimed. “Me and Sam love chicken. And Caesar salad, the best of all the salads. But seriously Dad, what’s in the freezer?”  
  
“After supper,” John reminded him, giving Sam his food, the chicken on his plate already cut into tiny pieces.  
  
Sam smiled up at John gratefully, before picking up his fork, stabbing a piece of the chicken.   
  
John smiled back and went back over to the counter, grabbing his own food, walking back over to the table, sitting down. “So, twenty-eight, Dean. Feel old yet?”  
  
Dean took a bite of his salad and shook his head. He swallowed hard then took a drink of his milk. “No. But I bet you do.”  
  
Sam chuckled around his fork, glancing over at John.  
  
“Ha. Ha,” John said sarcastically, bringing his glass up to his mouth. “And I’m not old. I’m mature.”  
  
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah right. _Mature_. Keep telling yourself that, Dad.”  
  
“Dean,” Sam said warningly. “Don’t be mean.”  
  
“I was just joking, Sam,” Dean said, turning to his brother. “Dad knows I’m just joking. He’s not old. He’s just … old _er_.” He cut a piece of chicken off and shoved it in his mouth.   
  
“Thanks for making supper, Dad,” Sam said, looking at his father. “As usual.”  
  
John smiled over at Sam. “Not a problem, Sam. As usual.”  
  
They finished their supper in silence; Sam first, as he didn’t have to spend the time cutting his chicken then Dean, who was excited to see what was in the freezer and John finished last, purposely trying to make Dean wait.   
  
“Come on, Dad,” Dean whined, bouncing up and down in his chair. “Come on. I wanna see what’s in the freezer. Come _on_.”  
  
John and Sam glanced at each other, both chuckling softly. “Dean, calm down,” John said, but he was pushing himself back from the table anyway, going to the freezer. “Close your eyes, it’s a surprise.”  
  
Sam looked at Dean, making sure his eyes actually were closed then watched John go to the freezer, pulling out the large paper bag, setting it on the counter. He watched John pull out a Dairy Queen box and going to the cupboards, getting a large plate. John opened the box and carefully lifted out an ice-cream cake, setting it on the plate. John glanced back at Sam, a smile on his face, before going to the drawers, grabbing a couple boxes of candles he had bought.   
  
Sam looked at Dean again, whose eyes were still closed and his head was low.   
  
John counted out twenty-eight candles and placed them all around the edge of the cake, as to not disturb the image in the icing. He grabbed a lighter from the drawer and lit all the candles and dropped the lighter, carefully lifting up the plate and walked slowly over to the table. He set the cake down in the middle then took his seat. “Okay, open ‘em up, Dean.”  
  
Dean opened his eyes slowly and as they grew wide, so did his grin. “Okay, this is officially the best birthday ever.”  
  
Sam leaned over the table a bit and looked at the top of the cake; a large Batman logo, with ‘Happy Birthday’ written above then ‘Dean’ written below it. He smiled and sat back down, looking over at Dean.  
  
“You know, Dad, you didn’t have to,” Dean told him, even though his happiness that John did, was evident.   
  
“We haven’t been together for one of birthdays in a few years,” John pointed out. “And you haven’t had a birthday cake in even longer than that.”  
  
“Happy Birthday, Dean,” Sam said quietly, leaning over to press a kiss to Dean’s cheek.   
  
Dean smiled then examined the cake. “I get first piece.” 


	31. Chapter 31

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 31/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** NC-17 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** It's Valentine's Day, and Dean tries his best to be romantic, even though Sam still isn't sure about it  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the Mpreg EPIC!!

 

“Dad, how do I be romantic?”  
  
John looked up from the newspaper in surprise, eyes wide. “Uh…what?”  
  
Dean shifted on the couch then turned more to face John in his chair. “For Sam. I mean, can guys even _be_ romantic? I just, I don’t want to be like, really girly or something, but I want to make Sam more comfortable. With himself, around me.”  
  
John didn’t reply for awhile, just stared at Dean, jaw dropped slightly. “I don’t…I don’t think I should be the one answering this, Dean. I-- I don’t-- yes, guys can be romantic. But I don’t think I can answer that. I’m your father. I’m Sam’s father.”  
  
Dean sighed. “Yeah, okay. So but-- okay…did you and Mom ever, you know, do it, when she was pregnant?” But before John could answer, Dean spoke up again. “Okay, yeah, you know what? I don’t really need to know that. Okay. Um…I’ll just-- I’ll figure something out.”  
  
John kept his eyes on Dean for a few more moments, before turning back to his paper. He swallowed hard. “Um…candles. Are romantic,” he tried to say casually, peering at Dean over the top of his paper.   
  
Dean glanced over at John, a grateful smile on his face. “Thanks, Dad.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam yawned loudly as he walked out of the bathroom and made his way into the kitchen, going straight for the refrigerator. He opened the door and grabbed the carton of orange juice. He held it in the crook of his arm, the moisture on the outside making the full carton too hard to hold with one hand. He yawned again then went to the cupboard, setting the orange juice down to open the cupboard door and grabbed a glass. Sam heard Dean come into the kitchen behind him, sitting down at the dining table. “Morning,” he said softly, glancing back.  
  
“Morning,” Dean mumbled, rubbing his face with his hands. “Coffee?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Orange juice,” he said, moving a bit out of the way so Dean could see the carton. He opened the top then studied the carton. He tried pulling on the safety seal, but with one hand, it was too awkward and the carton just lifted up when he pulled on the tab. “Fuck,” he muttered, glancing back to make sure Dean hadn’t noticed he problem yet. Sam sighed then brought his right arm up, hoping he could use the near-dead weight to hold the carton to his chest, while he used his left hand to pull the tab off.   
  
“Sammy?” Dean asked, pushing his chair back.  
  
“I’m fine!” Sam assured him, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. He pulled hard on the tab and finally, it broke away from the opening. “Yes,” he cheered quietly, carefully setting the carton back down. Then, he realized the carton might be too heavy to pour with one hand and he mentally smacked himself. “I don’t need your help.”  
  
Dean leaned against the counter and crossed his arms, watching Sam. “I know. And I’m not going to help you.”  
  
“Thank you,” Sam said.   
  
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Dean said suddenly.  
  
Sam glanced at Dean, a look of disbelief on his face. “Yeah, okay.” He swallowed hard then grabbed the carton with his left hand and lifted it, gripping it as tightly as he could, but his left was still his weak hand and the carton had gotten slicker since Sam had taken it out. He set the carton back down quickly, before he could spill it then rolled his eyes. “Retard,” he muttered, chastising himself.   
  
“Sam!” Dean exclaimed in disbelief. “Don’t say that.”  
  
Sam turned around and walked quickly out of the kitchen. “Well it’s fucking true!” he yelled back as he walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.  
  
Heavily limping, Dean made it to the bathroom only seconds after Sam did. He hadn’t heard the lock click, so he grabbed onto the door handle and pushed the door open. “Christ,” he muttered when he saw this bathroom was empty. He limped into the room and grabbed onto the second door handle, but it wouldn’t turn. “Sam!”  
  
No answer.  
  
“Sam, unlock the goddamn door!” Dean yelled, banging on the door.  
  
“Leave me alone!” Sam yelled back.  
  
“Fuck,” Dean muttered. He sighed then looked around the small room. He closed the lid of the toilet then sat down, hunched over, hands rubbing his face. “Sam, just open up.”  
  
“No,” Sam snapped. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”  
  
“No,” Dean replied. “I’m staying right here, until you open up the door.”  
  
“Then you’re staying there for awhile,” Sam told him.  
  
Dean shrugged, even though Sam couldn’t see it. “That’s okay, Sammy.”  
  
“It’s Sam,” Sam reminded him, for the first time in weeks.  
  
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Dean continued on. “No place I’d rather be than spending the day with the love of my life.” He could hear Sam snort, even through the door. “I uh…I had something planned for tonight, but I guess that’s out of the picture now, huh?”  
  
Silence from the other room for moments on end, before Sam spoke again. “What-- what did you have planned?”  
  
“I booked a hotel room a couple weeks ago,” Dean told him. “It was going to be all romantic. We were-- well, I was kind of hoping that we’d get to…you know. It’s been awhile, Sam; since November. I just, I don’t know. I just thought--” He was interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door unlocking. “Sam?”  
  
“If you’re going to come in, come in,” Sam said.   
  
Dean pushed himself up then took a couple steps and opened the door. His shifted his gaze downward, to see Sam sitting on the floor, huddled by the other door, head hanging low, and legs crossed Indian-style. “Hey,” Dean said softly, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub.  
  
“Hi,” Sam said, equally as soft, lifting his head. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Meh. It’s okay. I just want you to be okay. You know, I would’ve poured the orange juice for you, if you wanted.”  
  
Sam nodded slowly. “I know.”  
  
Dean nodded then looked around the room, taking a deep breath. “So uh…I can call the hotel and cancel, if you want. I know that this probably hasn’t put you in the mood for anything and I know you don’t want me to see you, but-- but I _want_ to see you, Sam.”  
  
Sam sighed then looked down again, at his stomach. “I know. I just-- we can go, to the hotel, but I don’t know if I can…I’m sorry, but I just don’t know.”  
  
Dean nodded understandingly. “It’s okay. I just want to be with you. A night to ourselves, it could be good.”  
  
Sam smiled gratefully. “Yeah. Yeah, it could be.” He sighed and let his head drop back against the door. “I should’ve just let you pour the orange juice.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe,” Dean agreed. “Now come on, let’s get up, go back to the kitchen and make some breakfast. I can pour your orange juice, you can make me some toast.”  
  
Sam smiled again and nodded. “Okay.” He sighed then reached out to grasp the edge of the bathtub, pushing himself up.   
  
Dean followed suit and let Sam lead the way out of the bathroom. “So, I guess…we can go after supper, or something. Okay?”  
  
Sam glanced back at Dean and nodded. “Okay.” He walked back into the kitchen and went to the fridge, grabbing a loaf of bread, for their toast. “Would you, uh…” he looked down at the counter, where his glass and the carton of orange juice still sat. “Would you get my juice for me?”  
  
Dean smiled and limped over to the counter, grabbing the orange juice. “See, was that so hard?” he teased, filling the glass.  
  
“Shut up,” Sam said, reaching behind him to give Dean a playful shove. “Jerk.”  
  
Dean shrugged then reached up to get his own glass. “Yeah well, this jerk pours your orange juice.”  
  
Sam smiled then turned on the toaster oven, before turning around to face Dean. “And I love you for it,” he said quietly, leaning down to give Dean a kiss. He lightly grasped onto the short hairs at the nape of Dean’s neck, pulling him in.  
  
Dean blindly set his glass down on the counter and reached up, throwing his arm around Sam’s neck, pulling him down into the kiss. He broke the kiss after a few more moments, looking up at Sam, mouth opened slightly. “That was nice,” he said, a smile beginning to grace his features.   
  
Sam smiled back, before a blush began to form on his cheeks. “Yeah, it was.” He ducked his head then grabbed the loaf of bread, walking it back over to the refrigerator. “I’m sorry, if I can’t-- tonight.”  
  
Dean shrugged then turned back to pour his juice. “I told you, Sam, it’s okay. And I’m not going to pressure you to do anything, don’t worry.”  
  
“I know,” Sam said quietly. “You wouldn’t do that.” He sighed then shook his head, clearing his mind. “You know what? I don’t really want to talk about this anymore.”  
  
Dean nodded once sharply. “You know what? I don’t think I do either. We are just going to go out and have a nice night, regardless. I bet there’s a good movie coming on tonight.”  
  
Sam smiled then rolled his eyes. “Of course there is. I’m going to go take a shower, get my toast for me, will you?”  
  
Dean nodded then grabbed onto his glass, taking a large gulp of the orange juice. “Will do.” He watched as Sam walked away then set the glass on the counter. He sighed then walked into the living room, flopping down on the couch. He leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Oh, Sammy.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Where are you going?” Sam asked, glancing up as Dean walked by him, cane in hand.   
  
“How did you know I was going somewhere?” Dean asked, before he leaned down and grabbed his boots.   
  
Sam nodded his head down at Dean’s cane as he leaned it against the table, sitting down to do up his boots. “You only ever use the cane outside. Where are you going?”  
  
“Nowhere important,” Dean replied, tying his boot. “Just something I gotta do; gotta get it done soon. I won’t be too long.”  
  
Sam nodded then turned the page in his book. “You wanna pick up supper while you’re out?”  
  
Dean nodded and stood up, grabbing onto his cane. He pressed a kiss to Sam’s head and ruffled his hair. “I was planning on it. If Dad comes home, tell him not to cook anything, yeah?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Don’t be too long though, okay? I’m getting hungry. And plus, we’re still going out, right?”  
  
Dean nodded, as he walked over to the entranceway. “If you still want to, we will.”  
  
Sam smiled. “I guess I’ll see you in a few then.”  
  
“Yup,” Dean agreed. “See ya.” He opened up the door and walked out into hallway.  
  
“See ya!” Sam called, before going back to his book.   
  
Dean made his way downstairs, patting his pockets to make sure he hadn’t forgotten his keys, or his wallet. He pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs and squinted at the bright California sunlight. He blinked a few times then began walking across the courtyard to the parking garage. He nodded hello to one of the other tenants walking by him and made his way to the Impala. He opened the door and climbed in, once again thankful people could drive with only one foot. Dean set the cane on the passenger seat then turned the key in the ignition, pulling away from the reserved parking spot.  
  
He turned up the radio, singing along to the Rolling Stones. He drove by the place where the always got their pizza and made a mental note that he’d stop there on the way back. He drove for a few more minutes, before the hotel came into sight, _Hotel Pepper Tree_. He snorted in laughter, as he always did when he heard the name then pulled into the parking lot. He turned off the ignition, grabbing the cane before climbing out of the car. Dean walked up to the front door of the lobby, opening it and walking in. He smiled over at the receptionist, before he smiled over at her, making his way to the desk.   
  
“Good afternoon sir,” the receptionist smiled up at him. “How can I help you?”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam moaned as he took a bite of the hot pizza, eyes closing as he chewed. “I love this pizza. God, I love this pizza.”  
  
John chuckled, taking a bite of his own pizza. “It is pretty good, Sam.”  
  
Dean nodded, taking a drink of his milk. “It’s good, but it’s not ‘moan when you eat it’ good. Calm down.”  
  
Sam stuck his tongue out then set down his pizza to take a drink of his milk. He sighed then grabbed onto his pizza, taking another bite. “It really is good,” Sam said, licking pizza sauce off his lips.   
  
Dean sighed then cocked his head to one side. “You know, I could make a dirty joke right now. But I’m not going to, because I’m mature.”  
  
John snorted and chuckled into his glass of milk, “yeah, right. Dean, I’ve known you for…oh, all your life. You’ve never been mature.”  
  
“Shut up!” Dean snapped, reaching over to smack his father’s arm. “I am too!”  
  
“Twenty bucks he stomps his foot,” Sam muttered, leaning over to John.  
  
John began laughing a bit harder, shaking his head. “God, you people.” He took another bite of his pizza, trying to calm his giggles and glanced down at his watch. He swallowed the pizza then cleared his throat. “You boys still…going out?” he asked.  
  
Sam and Dean glanced at each other, before Sam began nodding slowly. “Uh, yeah. I--I guess so.”  
  
“Then why are you sitting here, eating pizza and milk with your old man?” John asked, raising an eyebrow. “Not that I--”  
  
“Not that you approve of this relationship, but still, it _is_ Valentine’s Day” Dean finished. “Yeah, we know, Dad. And don’t worry; we’ll be out of your hair in a little bit. You got a hot date tonight?”  
  
John snorted again. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it. Of course, I don’t know if you’d call a basketball game hot or not, but whatever.”  
  
Sam laughed, glancing over at Dean. “I’m going-- I’m gonna go get changed,” he said, glancing down at his oversized t-shirt and sweats. “If I can find something that fits, that is,” he murmured, pushing his chair back from the table.   
  
Dean watched Sam walk away, down the hallway, before he spoke again. “I don’t mean to be rude…” he began slowly, looking back at John.  
  
“Dean,” John said warningly. “Don’t say it.”  
  
Dean looked at John in disbelief. “How the heck do you know what I’m going to say?”  
  
“Because he’s seven months pregnant!” John whispered harshly, trying to keep his voice low to keep Sam from hearing. “I know _exactly_ what you’re going to say and I don’t want you to make your brother feel any worse than he already does.”  
  
Dean sighed then slumped down in his seat. “Yeah, I know. I was just saying.”  
  
“And now _I’m_ just saying, drop it, Dean,” John commanded. “If he comes home crying, I will kick your ass. And I’m not joking. Be nice to him.”  
  
“Dad, I am nothing _but_ nice to him!” Dean protested. “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, I’m just saying…he’s gotten--” Dean swallowed, “big.”  
  
John sighed and rolled his eyes. “Dean, I’m serious. Because even though he’s pregnant and you two are whatever the heck you two are, he’s still your little brother and in the DNA of every big brother is the need to make fun of the baby. So I’m telling you now: I didn’t put up with it when you were kids and I’m sure as hell not putting up with it now.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Dean muttered. “But it’s not like I was going to say anything to him. I was just--” He was interrupted by a loud scream from the master bedroom.   
  
They both pushed themselves back from the table quickly, John moving faster than Dean down the hall, to push open the door. “Sam?” John asked, stepping into the room.  
  
Sam looked over at them from the closet, his face flushed with anger. “I fucking _hate_ this,” he said, voice shaking, trying to keep himself calm.  
  
Dean sighed and leaned against the doorframe, glancing over at John.   
  
John took a step forward into the room and glanced back at Dean, before walking over to Sam. “You know what, Sammy?”  
  
“It’s Sam,” Sam muttered.  
  
“I think you might have a shirt that fits you,” John continued. “Remember that shirt we got a little while ago, with the buttons?”  
  
Sam nodded slowly. “It’s not in here.”  
  
“Maybe it’s in my closet,” John suggested. “We washed it, right? Maybe I put it away by mistake. Let’s go check, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded again and let John lead him away from the closet, past Dean and into John’s bedroom.  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the doorframe. “When you two ladies are done getting dressed together, I’ll be in the living room.” He walked down the hall, flopping down in John’s chair.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Dean looked back as he heard footsteps coming down the hall. “You ready?” he asked Sam, pushing himself up out of the chair.  
  
Sam nodded, glancing back at John. “Yeah, I’m ready.” He took his jacket off his arm and pulled it on. “I guess we’ll see you tomorrow sometime, Dad.” He gave a slight smile.  
  
John nodded then shoved his hands in his back pockets. “Alrighty then, you boys have a good time.”  
  
Dean nodded, grabbing his jacket. “Bye, Dad.”  
  
John gave a slight wave then put his hand back in his pocket, leaning against the wall.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
The car ride was silent, except for the radio. Sam just watched out the window, wondering where exactly they were going. Dean kept his eyes mainly on the road, but kept stealing glances at Sam. Once Dean pulled into the parking lot, he finally spoke. “I’ll get the door,” he told Sam, hopping out of the car quickly, going around to other side. “You know, since it’s Valentine’s Day and everything.”  
  
Sam smiled up at Dean, climbing out of the car. “Thanks,” he said softly, glancing around the parking lot. “ _Hotel Pepper Tree_?”   
  
Dean smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I know.” He glanced down at Sam’s hand, almost ready to grasp it in his own, before he remembered the trouble they got in last time it happened. “I already got the room keys, so let’s just head in, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded and followed Dean into the hotel lobby and then into the elevator. “Different then every other place we’ve ever stayed,” he remarked, tapping his foot against the floor. The doors _dinged_ and opened and Dean stepped out first, leading the way down the hall.   
  
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, not quite sure what else to say. “Here we are, two-thirteen.” He slid the key card in the slot then turned the knob. “Close your eyes.”  
  
Sam sighed then closed his eyes, listening to the door open then Dean step aside. “Can I go in now?” At Dean’s yes, Sam stepped forward into the room. The door closed and locked behind them and Sam waited for Dean to give him the okay.   
  
“You can open them now,” Dean told him.  
  
Sam sighed once more then let his eyes flicker open. “Wow.”  
  
Covering the dresser, the bedside table and the desk in the room, were at least a hundred candles, filling the room with an orangey glow.   
  
“You did this?” Sam asked, glancing down at Dean.  
  
“Well, not really,” Dean admitted. “But you pay the people here and they’ll do pretty much whatever you want, in a non-creepy way.”  
  
Sam chuckled softly then watched Dean walk over to the large bed, sitting down on the edge. Dean nodded over at Sam and patted the spot on the mattress beside him.   
  
Sam smiled nervously then made his way over, sitting down beside Dean, looking about as uncomfortable as he could be. His body was stiff and his foot was tapping on the carpet and he was resisting the urge to run into the bathroom and lock himself in.   
  
Dean smiled then reached down to untie his boots.  
  
“What-- what are you doing?” Sam asked in surprise.  
  
Dean looked up at Sam, still working on his laces. “Just taking my shoes off; getting comfortable. Something you should think about.”   
  
Sam nodded jerkily. “I know. I just-- it’s been awhile. I look different since the last time you saw me naked.”  
  
Dean sat up and took of his jacket, reaching over to set it on the chair a couple feet away from the bed. “Who said anything about getting naked? I’m just taking off my shoes, Sam.”  
  
“Oh,” Sam said. “Oh, okay.”  
  
Dean stood up and stepped in front of Sam, kneeling down. “You need help getting these off, don’t you?”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Sorry.”  
  
Dean shook his head and began quickly undoing the laces. “No problem.” He pulled the first sneaker off. “See, just shoes.” He pulled the other off then stood up. “Want to keep your jacket?”  
  
Sam shook his head then shrugged his jacket off, handing it to Dean, who set it on top of his own. “This is nice,” he said, gesturing to all the candles. “Romantic.”  
  
Dean shrugged and sat back down on the bed. “It _is_ Valentine’s Day,” Dean pointed out. “I thought it’d be nice.”  
  
“It is,” Sam repeated. He took a deep breath and glanced down at his stomach, before looking back up at Dean. “What-- what do we do now?”  
  
“Whatever you want,” Dean said, turning more towards Sam, bringing one leg up on the bed. “What do you want to do?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Sam said quietly. “Every other time we’ve done--” he gestured between them, “ _this_ , we just kind of…did it.”  
  
Dean sighed and leaned against Sam’s shoulder, breath tickling Sam’s ear. “Whatever you want Sam. Just tell me. We can climb into bed, go right to sleep and I wouldn’t care. I’m just glad you came. That you trust me enough.”  
  
“Of course I trust you,” Sam exclaimed. “I’m not scared of you, Dean. I’m scared of what you’ll think, when you see-- when-- my stomach. I don’t-- I don’t have a six-pack anymore.”  
  
Dean chuckled softly and reached out, setting his hand on Sam’s stomach, warmth seeping through Sam’s shirt. “Well, after two months of hospital food, in a bed…I don’t think I do either.”  
  
Sam turned to Dean and smiled. “I know. I’m just-- it’s just nerves. I’ll calm down, I promise.”  
  
Dean sighed then thought for a moment. “What about…what about a massage or something? I know I’m not very good at it, but it might work for something.”  
  
“O-- okay,” Sam agreed. “Do I-- do I have to take off my shirt?”  
  
Dean shook his head, shifting on the bed to sit behind Sam. “Not if you don’t want to. Okay?”  
  
Sam nodded and took a deep breath as Dean’s hands began to work his shoulders.   
  
Dean moved his hands up slowly, but hard enough to work, kneading the skin beneath Sam’s shirt. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of Sam’s neck, feeling him shiver. He smiled against Sam’s neck, still working his hands. Dean moved in closer to Sam, shifting to make his ankle feel more comfortable. “I’m going to make you feel better, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Sam agreed, trying to keep himself from shaking with his nerves.  
  
Dean pressed a kiss to the back of Sam’s neck and ran his hands up and down Sam’s sides, before coming back to rest on his shoulders.   
  
Sam sighed and leaned back into Dean’s hands, letting his eyes close. “Feels nice,” he said dreamily.  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked. “I’m glad.”  
  
Sam smiled and groaned as Dean pressed a particularly tight spot. “Really nice.”  
  
Dean chuckled softly and began working his hands a bit further down Sam’s back, leaving his shoulders. He leaned his head against the back of Sam’s, mouthing the tan skin of his neck, tongue coming out every once in awhile to taste the skin.  
  
Sam stiffened and resisted the urge to pull away. “I…Dean, I’m not ready.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean said, breath coming hot in Sam’s ear. “It’s okay Sammy. I’m not going to make you do anything. I love you.”  
  
“I love you too,” Sam said, his head dropping forward. “Thank you, for taking it slow.”  
  
“We have all night,” Dean reminded him. He stopped his hands and just leaned against Sam’s back, arms wrapping around, his hands coming to rest on Sam’s stomach. “And after that, we have the rest of our lives, Sam. Just ‘cause it’s Valentine’s Day and we’re here, doesn’t mean we have to do anything. Okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Sam agreed.   
  
Dean took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Sam. He sighed and pressed closer to him, head nuzzling against Sam’s neck. He began rubbing Sam’s stomach with one hand gently, the other just holding onto Sam. “You want to lie down?” he asked eventually, lifting his head.  
  
Sam shook his head in a negative. “No. I don’t want-- I want to stay up.”  
  
“Sam, I’m not going to hurt you, once we get under the covers,” Dean said. “If you’re scared, don’t be. Please. I don’t like seeing you scared.”  
  
“I’m not scared,” Sam whispered. “I don’t know what I am.”  
  
“Do you feel well? Like, not sick?” Dean asked.  
  
Sam shrugged. “I have butterflies in my stomach, but it’s just nerves. I’m okay. I just-- I want to relax first. Before-- before anything.”  
  
“What about--” Dean thought for a moment. “What about a bath?”  
  
“No!” Sam cried. “I mean, no. No. I can’t.”  
  
“Why not?” Dean asked, almost getting annoyed with Sam.   
  
“Because then you’ll see me,” Sam pointed out. “You’ll see my stomach.”  
  
Dean sighed then rubbed at his face. “Sam, how many times have I told you? I don’t care what you look like. I love you. I always will, no matter what. I don’t care that you have a stomach. If you don’t want to do this, if you don’t want to be with me, then just _say_ it. Don’t keep using the same excuse.”  
  
“It’s not an excuse!” Sam said angrily, standing up off the bed. “You want me to get over it? You want me to get over it? Fine!” He began working quickly as his buttons, as quickly as he could with only one hand, until the whole shirt was unbuttoned. He shrugged the shirt off and it fell to the floor behind him. “You look at me…you look at me and you tell me that I didn’t have the right to be scared.”  
  
Dean stood up and walked over to Sam, studying him closely. Sam’s nipples were darker than he remembered and his pecs seemed fuller, looking a bit more like actual breasts, but they still looked like they belonged on a man. There was a dark line on his stomach, starting at his navel, going down beneath the line of his jeans. But it was still Sam. _His_ Sam. Dean smiled. “You’re beautiful.”  
  
“Don’t say that,” Sam said, his voice almost cracking.  
  
“Completely gorgeous,” Dean continued. “What are you so scared about?”  
  
Sam shook his head, pressing the heels of him palms to his eyes. “I’m fat,” he gritted through his teeth, still not having enough to strength to meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m sorry I look like this.”  
  
“Sam,” Dean said quietly, reaching up to cup Sam’s chin, making him look at him. “I love you. And I love every part of you.” He shook his head, trying not to make himself cry. “I love that you fell in love with me. I love that you wanted this baby. I love that you protected me. I love how you put up with me, like when I can’t remember how to tie my tie.” He took a deep breath and looked Sam in the eyes. “I love that you trust me enough. For this, to-- to-- to take care of you. To be inside you. Please, don’t … it hurts me, that you think I would laugh, or something, when I saw you. I know you’ve put on weight Sammy, you’re pregnant. I expected it. Please, let me love you.”  
  
Sam’s own eyes began to water and he blinked furiously to keep them away. “I want you inside me,” he said softly, voice almost breaking. “Please, Dean.”  
  
Dean smiled softly and nodded. “Lie down,” he said, taking a step back. “Let’s lie down.”  
  
Sam wrapped his arms around himself, walking back over to the bed, sitting down before bringing his legs up, lying back, slightly propped up by the pillows at the headboard.   
  
Dean smiled at the sight and walked over to the bed himself, climbing on to kneel between Sam’s legs. “Let’s get these pants off you, huh?” He reached up to unbutton then unzip the pants. Sam lifted his hips, letting his hands drift off his stomach to rest on the sheets.  
  
Dean pulled the jeans off Sam’s hips, taking his boxers with them. He moved back with the jeans, until he could get them off, dropping them on the floor. He moved back up between Sam’s legs, nestled between his thighs, still fully clothed. “I’ve missed you.”  
  
“I’ve always been here,” Sam said softly, lifting his head. “I just … I was just a little lost for a bit.”  
  
Dean smiled up at Sam then leaned down, pressing a kiss to above Sam’s navel. “You taste the same.”  
  
Sam blushed slightly, but kept his eyes on Dean. “I love you.”  
  
Dean didn’t answer, just shifted between Sam’s legs, spreading them, getting him to bend them at the knee, allowing Dean a full view of Sam. He leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to the head of Sam’s cock, listening to the gasp of breath and watched Sam’s hips buck. “Are you sure Sam?”  
  
“Now?” Sam asked. “Yeah, I am.”  
  
Dean smiled up at him and pressed another kiss, before opening his mouth, letting the head of Sam’s cock slip between his lips. He moved his head down further and could feel Sam hardening in his mouth.  
  
Sam’s mouth opened in a silent ‘o’ and he squeezed his eyes shut as Dean began to suck softly, tongue flicking out to the slit. His breath started coming quicker and he clutched at the bed sheets as Dean worked his mouth harder, grasping onto the bit of the shaft his mouth couldn’t take in. “D-- Dean, Dean. Dean, I can’t-- we should’ve-- I’m not going to last,” he finally managed to get out.  
  
Dean pulled off Sam for a moment, looking up at him. “You think I am? It’s okay Sam, come when you need to. Don’t hold back.” He wrapped his lips back around Sam, bobbing his head up and down, making obscene slurping sounds Sam thought were only appropriate for porn stars.  
  
Sam wished he had something else to grab onto, other than the sheets. He cried out loudly, part in frustration, wanting to get off quicker. He reached up and began rolling a nipple between his fingers, gasping as it sent jolts of pleasure down to his cock. “Dean,” he cried out, bucking his hips. “I can’t-- I can feel it. Dean, I’m not-- I’m--” his voice stopped as the tension in his body finally broke and he jerked, coming into Dean’s mouth, thick and warm.   
  
Dean swallowed as much as he could, wiping at the sides of his mouth, still bobbing his head.  
  
Sam began whimpering as Dean’s mouth continued to work at him, the feeling too much for him. He slipped out of Dean’s mouth and he brought his legs up, curling away from Dean. He panted, fighting to catch his breath.  
  
Dean swallowed once more, before moving up behind Sam, spooning against him. “You alright?” he asked, brushing a sweaty lock of hair off Sam’s forehead. He reached awkwardly behind him and grabbed the corner of the sheet to untuck it so they could climb under. He moved away from Sam and began undoing his jeans.  
  
Sam nodded furiously and he curled even further up onto himself, still trying to calm his breathing. “You--” he swallowed hard, “you-- I don’t-- it was so-- and--”  
  
“Shh,” Dean said softly, reaching out to rub Sam’s back gently. “It’s okay. I know. I know.”  
  
Sam lifted his head and looked back at Dean. “You have to … please Dean. Want you in me. Please?”  
  
Dean pulled on the sheets, pulling them out from under Sam, so he could pull them over him. He nodded, pressing a kiss to Sam’s shoulder. “Of course.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
When Dean finally slid into Sam, he let out a gasp then a sigh of relief. “Sammy,” he murmured against Sam’s back, as he began to thrust his hips gently. He slipped his arm under Sam’s head; Sam nestled against where his arm and shoulder met. He wrapped the other arm gently around Sam’s stomach, rubbing the skin softly with his thumb and he pressed kisses along the sweat-slicked skin. “Love you.”  
  
Sam gasped and nodded. “Love-- love you too.” He reached down with his right hand and just set the near dead weight on Dean’s hand, slipping his fingers in the spaces between Dean’s.   
  
Dean looked down in surprise; the first time Sam had ever let Dean touch his broken hand. “Sammy?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “Just-- keep going. I want to feel you.”  
  
“Fuck I love you,” Dean said softly, moving his head up to rest on Sam’s shoulders. He continued to thrust gently, Sam jerking against him every thrust. Dean could feel his release coming and for once in his life, he didn’t try to stop it. Everything was already perfect; he didn’t need to last any longer. He groaned softly and thrust one last time, before spilling into Sam.   
  
Sam gasped when he felt the spread of wet warmth within him and he could feel every pulse of Dean’s cock.   
  
Dean’s breath was coming quickly and he moved to pull out of Sam, but Sam shook his head.  
  
“Please, stay in,” Sam pleaded. “Just for … just for tonight.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean agreed, snuggling into Sam. “Let’s-- we can get cleaned up in the morning.”  
  
Sam nodded then pulled the sheets up further. “That sounds … nice.” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, allowing himself to fall asleep.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Hi,” Dean said softly, nuzzling against the back of Sam’s neck. “How you feeling?”  
  
“Fine,” Sam said, shifting in Dean’s arm. “Thank you, for last night.”  
  
Dean smiled against Sam’s skin, pressing a kiss there. “I’m gonna pull out now, okay?”  
  
Sam nodded and lightly grabbed onto the bed sheet, as he felt Dean pull out, a sharp sting when he finally was all the way out. He took a deep breath then shifted onto his back, looking over at Dean. “We should probably get home sometime, huh?”  
  
Dean propped himself up on the pillow, head on his hand, smiling down at Sam. “Whenever you want. We can get breakfast, if you want. Hungry?”  
  
Sam shrugged. “Tired. Little sore.”  
  
Dean’s eyes filled with confusion, before they filled with fear. “Wait, did I--?”  
  
Sam shook his head, knowing exactly what Dean was thinking. “My feet. They’re sore all the time now. Don’t worry, it wasn’t you.”  
  
Dean smiled in relief then dropped back on the pillow, pressing a kiss to Sam’s cheek. “Love you, Sammy.”  
  
Sam smiled and tilted his head down, kissing Dean on the lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”  
  
Dean smiled up at Sam. “Thanks, but I think … I think you’re a day late.”  
  
“It’s the thought that counts,” Sam murmured, reaching up to drag his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip.   
  
Dean smiled again. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”


	32. Chapter 32

**Title:** Look What Love Has Done 32/??  
**Pairing:** Sam/Dean  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine  
**Rating:** PG-13 this chapter; probably R/NC-17 overall  
**Summary:** With a month to go, Dean starts to think in terms of a nursery.  
**Author's Note:** It was just a plotless one-shot, but now it's the Mpreg EPIC!!

 

 

“I’m going to take my shower,” Sam said, pushing his chair back from the table. He pushed himself up with his hand, slowly straightening back up. He groaned and rested his hands on his stomach, smiling over at Dean and John in the living room.   
  
“Be careful in there!” Dean called, leaning forward in his seat to keep his eyes on Sam.  
  
“I’ll be fine!” Sam called back, walking into the bathroom.  
  
Dean sighed and leaned back against the couch, glancing over at John. “He really needs to start taking baths. What if he falls? He should really--”  
  
“Dean, please calm down,” John interrupted, taking a sip of his coffee. “Sam can stand perfectly well, as long as it’s not for too long.”  
  
Dean thought for a moment then nodded quickly. “Okay. Okay, yeah, you’re right. I mean, he took a shower yesterday.”  
  
John nodded. “Yup, and the day before that. Dean, it’s just a shower. One of us can go in and spot him, if you want.”  
  
Dean chuckled softly and shook his head. “That’s okay, Dad. I don’t think Sam would appreciate that.” He pushed himself up, limping from the living room into the kitchen, setting his empty cereal bowl in the sink. “Dad, when-- when did you do up mine and Sammy’s nurseries?”  
  
“I don’t know,” John called back. He thought for a moment. “For you, I think it was probably two months beforehand, with Sammy it was probably just one. I actually knew what I was supposed to be doing the second time around.”  
  
Dean sighed and stepped out of the kitchen, getting back into John’s line of sight. “We don’t have the baby’s nursery done yet. We’ve got like, a month here; shouldn’t we at least have a crib?”  
  
John nodded. “Probably, I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything. So when do you want to do this; tomorrow?”  
  
“Today?” Dean asked hopefully, walking closer to John. “You could, or I could, take him out, get him away from the apartment for a day and do what we can with your bedroom.”  
  
“Today?” John repeated, a little surprised. “Dean, I think you need to think this through. Don’t you think Sammy wants a say?”  
  
“But I bet he’d like a surprise even more,” Dean proclaimed. “You could say that you want to spend like, a father/son day with him, catch up with him. I could say I have to go see Bob about my job. Dad, he’s so caught up in his own little world these days, he’ll never figure it out.”  
  
John sighed then glanced at his watch. “It’s ten fifteen. When exactly do you plan on starting?”  
  
“You’re not taking this seriously,” Dean accused, sitting down on the couch, looking over at his father. “Dad, I’m being serious here. I’m going to do that nursery today.”  
  
John snorted and rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Dean, do you know how long it took to do your nursery?” He paused for a moment. “Well, neither do I, but I know it took more than one day.”  
  
“Dad, I just-- okay, fine,” Dean said, giving in. “But I can get the crib today, right? Sam said I get to pick it out anyway, so can I do that?”  
  
“Dean, you don’t need my permission,” John told him. “But yeah, okay, a crib is a good start … then what?”  
  
“What do you mean ‘then what’?” Dean asked. “Then I put the crib in the room and show Sammy tonight.”  
  
John chuckled softly and shook his head. “No, I mean, what do you do after you get a crib?”  
  
Dean just stared at John, still unsure what he meant. “Um…I…paint the room? Come on, Dad, it’s a nursery, how hard could it be? I sort of remember Sam’s nursery, it’s not like I don’t know what goes in them.”  
  
“Okay, fine,” John said, laughing again. “I’ll keep Sam busy if you want. I’ll take him out to get ice cream, or something. Dean, you’re not going to be able to get a crib up the stairs by yourself, even if you had two good ankles.”  
  
“I’ll get Bob,” Dean answered, pushing himself up. “I’ll call him now.”  
  
“No, Dean, I don’t want that guy in our apartment,” John said, following Dean down the hall to Dean’s bedroom, where his cell phone was. “He’s just going to eat all our food, or light up in our bathroom or something.”  
  
“Oh, calm down, Dad,” Dean said, grabbing his phone. “Just because he’s a dope head--” he looked over at the bathroom door when he heard the water shut off. “Okay, I’ll just have to call him in the living room.” He walked quickly out of the bedroom, leaving John standing there alone, a bit of a surprise for Sam when he opened the door.  
  
“Uh, hi Dad,” Sam said, tightening his hold on his towel. “What’s-- what’s up?”  
  
John just stared at Sam for a moment, a fake smile plastered on his face, trying to think of something to say. “I um…uh, what are you doing today, Sammy?”  
  
“Um, I don’t know,” Sam said, still a little wary of the fact that his father had been waiting for him in his bedroom. “Nothing, I guess.”  
  
“You want to go out today, Sammy?” John asked, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Dean said he has to go into work, or something and you know, we haven’t spent much time together in awhile.”  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow, but nodded anyway. “Oh, okay. Sure. Um, I have to get dressed first though, so can you…” he looked over to the door, “maybe?”  
  
John looked at Sam in confusion for a second before finally getting it. “Oh! Oh yeah, sorry, of course. I’ll just be out-- out in the living room or something.” He gave a smile and hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
Sam just stared at the door, unsure of what had exactly just happened.  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“So what type of crib do you want?” the saleswoman asked.  
  
Dean sighed and looked around. “Okay, you know those plain brown wood cribs, that are like rectangular and you just push down the side?”  
  
The saleswoman nodded.  
  
“Yeah, I don’t want one of those,” Dean told her.  
  
“Oh,” the saleswoman said, a little surprised.  
  
“Nothing too girly either,” Dean continued. “No like, lace, or frills, or anything pink. We’re having a boy.”  
  
“I assumed,” the saleswoman replied, nodding. “So, how about you just look around, see what you like? Might be easier that way.”   
  
Dean nodded and gave her a polite smile as he began walking through the cribs on the showroom floor. He pulled out his cell phone and dialled John’s number, listening to it ring.  
  
“Your phone,” Sam said, trying to keep his ice cream from melting down the cone.  
  
John switched his cone from the left hand to the right and dug out his phone. “Hello?”  
  
“Dad, how much should I be paying for a crib?” Dean asked, shifting on his feet.  
  
John glanced over at Sam, who wasn’t paying any attention to the phone call, just licking away happily at his ice cream. “Uh, I don’t know. Why?”  
  
“Because I’m not getting this crib at Goodwill,” Dean explained. “Everything in real stores is so expensive; I’m not used to it.”  
  
John chuckled softly. He glanced over at Sam again and took a couple steps away. “Well, don’t spend like, a thousand dollars on this thing, Dean. The baby’s not going to need it for that long.”  
  
“I know, Dad, but I want to make Sammy happy and having--”  
  
“Having expensive things will make him happy?” John asked. “He’s not like that, you know that, Dean.”  
  
“Dad, everything here that’s nice, that _isn’t_ like the one Sammy had, is at least, eight hundred bucks,” Dean told him. He continued walking through the cribs and bassinets, looking for one he liked. “Bassinets are too girly.”  
  
John chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Trust me; I had that argument with your mother a few times.”  
  
Dean’s eyes lit up. “Dad, there’s a really … nice cowboy one and it’s nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars. Dad, I can’t spend that much, that’s like, more than half of what I make in a month.”  
  
“Dean,” John said warningly.  
  
“Who’s on the phone, Dad?” Sam asked, walking over to him.  
  
“Gotta go, talk to you later … Bobby,” John said, shutting his phone off. “Bobby,” he said, turning to Sam with a grin, “just checking up. So, good ice cream?”  
  
Sam nodded and watched as John put his phone away.  
  
“Bobby?” Dean repeated, looking at his phone confused. “What the--” He sighed and shut his phone off, dropping it back in his pocket. He looked around at the price tags and groaned, rubbing his eyes. “This sucks.” He sighed again then began walking again. “There _has_ to be something here.” He continued looking at all the cribs, staying away from the ones he knew he didn’t want and trying not to let himself feel too down about not being able to afford the ones he really wanted. Finally, he spotted a price tag that read only two hundred and forty-five dollars and it wasn’t one that reminded him of Sam’s. He smiled to himself and nodded. “I think Sam will approve.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“It was Dean, wasn’t it?” Sam asked, glancing over at his father.  
  
“What was Dean?” John asked.  
  
“On the phone,” Sam said. “It wasn’t Bobby. Bobby wouldn’t call us if we paid him to. So what did Dean want?”  
  
John sighed and shook his head. “Nothing, he was just talking about Bob and work and something or other. Who knows with that kid these days.”  
  
Sam chuckled then reached out to grab onto John’s arm, stopping him. “Can we sit for a sec, my feet are killing me.” He took a couple steps back to the bench in front of The GAP, sitting down. He sighed in relief and watched as John sat down next to him. “I think you’re lying.”  
  
“Yeah well, that may or may not be the case,” John said, leaning back. “So how are you feeling, Sammy?”  
  
Sam shrugged, looking down at his stomach, rubbing it softly. “Pregnant,” he said quietly, lifting his head, a smile on his face. “I don’t know, really. After everything we’ve been through, in my entire life, this really doesn’t seem like such a big thing.”  
  
“Yet,” John added. “One month and it’ll be the biggest thing you’ve ever done.”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam agreed softly, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be a dad. I mean, were you?”  
  
John leaned forward, shaking his head. “Wasn’t ready to be a dad, really wasn’t ready to be a granddad.”  
  
Sam laughed. “Yeah, sorry about that.”  
  
“Truth is Sammy, there’ve been a lot of things in my life that I wasn’t ready for,” John told him. “But I must say you and Dean were the best.”  
  
Sam smiled gratefully, leaning into John, bumping shoulders with him playfully. “Aw, thanks, Dad. But seriously, I’ve never even held a baby, how can I raise one?”  
  
John shrugged. “You’ve got Dean. He-- he did everything for you, he can help you now with the baby. He knows how to potty-train and how to feed and how to hold a baby and dress one. He can probably do it better than me.”  
  
Sam sighed then leaned back again, settling in. “So, what’d Dean really want?”  
  
John chuckled and leaned back, looking over at Sam. “Sammy, give it up. I can’t tell you, I promised not to.”  
  
“So all this was to get me out of the apartment?” Sam asked.  
  
John shrugged. “Had to get you away from Dean,” John said, half telling the truth. “I’m not sure exactly what he’s doing.”  
  
“Dad, stop lying,” Sam demanded, but there was a large grin on his face anyway. “Just tell me what’s going on.”  
  
John shook his head. “Can’t. Now come on, let’s go,” he took a deep breath. “Let’s go shopping.” He sighed in disbelief then pushed himself up, offering a hand to Sam.   
  
Sam smiled up at him and took his hand. “What exactly are we shopping for?” He let go of John’s hand and followed close beside him, trying to hide his stomach as best as he could.   
  
“Baby clothes I guess,” John answered. “Who the hell knows? Let’s just keep walking.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
“Whoa,” Bob said, staring at the large package Dean was leaning against. “Dude, what the heck is _that_?”  
  
“A surprise, for Sam,” Dean answered, straightening up. “Thanks for helping out, Bob.”  
  
Bob shrugged. “No problem, anything for my number one employee.”  
  
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s nice, Bob. So let’s just … let’s get this in your truck, I guess. And then um … I’ll drive, you follow?”  
  
Bob nodded and cocked his head to the side, looking at the cane that Dean was twirling around absent-mindedly. “What’s up with that?”  
  
“Broken foot,” Dean answered, glancing down at his cane. “Well, broken foot, broken ankle, broken toes. Whatever.”  
  
“Oh,” Bob said simply, biting his lip. “Well then. Anyway dude, when are you coming back to work? I mean, you _are_ coming back to work right?”  
  
“Yeah, of course,” Dean assured him. “Gotta support the baby somehow.”  
  
“Hey, maybe you wanna name the kid Bob?” Bob offered.  
  
Dean just stared at him, eyebrow raised. “I don’t think so, Bob. Now come on, let’s get this in your truck.”  
  
 

**…….**

  
  
Sam grasped onto the railing, pulling himself up the stairs more than actually walking. “Why the hell doesn’t this place have an elevator?”  
  
John chuckled and placed one hand on the small of Sam’s back and grasped onto his other hand, helping him up. “Who was the one who wanted a balcony and not a porch?”  
  
“Fuck, I don’t even know anymore,” Sam groaned, hunched over a bit. “My feet are sore,” he said, wincing as he took another step. “I just want to get up these stairs, get to our apartment and go to bed.”  
  
“Sammy, it’s not even supper yet,” John reminded him, holding open the door for Sam. He walked a couple steps ahead of Sam, looking behind him every few seconds to check on Sam. He tried the knob then pushed it open, stepping out of the way for Sam to walk in.  
  
“Dean?” Sam called, walking to the dining table to sit down. He sighed in relief then leaned back. “Dean?”  
  
“Dude, what is up with you?” Bob asked, making his way down the hallway.  
  
“Bob?” Sam asked, sitting up straight. He shifted in his seat, trying to get his stomach under the table. “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Dean needed help with something,” Bob shrugged, before pulling out the chair at the table beside Sam, sitting down. “What’s up with the stomach?”  
  
“Nothing,” John and Sam answered together quickly.  
  
Bob grinned. “Whoa. That was weird. But seriously dude, you look pregnant. I’ve heard of like, sympathy pains or whatever, but I didn’t know adopting parents actually got _that_ big.”  
  
“Yeah, well…” Sam looked up at John hopelessly, “where’s Dean?”  
  
“Hey Sammy,” Dean said, walking down the hall. He pressed a kiss to the top of Sam’s head then looked at Bob. “Bob, you should really be getting back to the store, huh? My replacement is probably just swamped with … customers and stuff.”  
  
“Yeah, sure dude, whatever,” Bob agreed, standing up. “But first,” he turned to John and extended his hand, “Bob Carlton, Sir.”  
  
John glanced over at Dean, who was watching John expectantly. “John Winchester. Pleasure to meet you Bob.” He shook Bob’s hand and smiled. “Dean’s father.”  
  
Bob nodded. “Yes, sir, I know. Dean’s mentioned you.” His hand dropped from John’s, back to his side. “You wanna make sure Dean comes back to work sometime?”  
  
John chuckled softly. “I’ll do my best. And thanks for helping Dean out today.”  
  
Bob shrugged. “No problem.” He turned to Sam and Dean and waved. “Nice to see you again, Sam. Dean, get your ass back to my store. Pronto.”  
  
Dean smiled. “Alright.”  
  
Bob sighed then walked past John, grabbing his jacket. He opened up the door and called out another goodbye before closing the door behind him.  
  
Sam looked up at Dean. “Help with what, Dean?”  
  
“Oh, nothing,” Dean smiled, ruffling Sam’s hair.  
  
Sam smacked Dean in the stomach, smiling back. “Come on, tell me.”  
  
Dean sighed and bit his lip. “Okay, fine, whatever. Come on.” He grasped onto Sam’s arm and helped him up carefully, out of his chair. “You okay?” he asked softly, looking up at Sam.   
  
Sam nodded and let Dean lead him down the hall. “I knew you were hiding something, Dad,” he said, glancing behind him as John followed them a couple steps behind.  
  
John shrugged. “Oh well.”  
  
Sam reached to push open his and Dean’s bedroom door, but Dean lightly smacked his fingers away and grabbed onto the knob himself.  
  
“Close your eyes,” Dean told him, stepping into the room. “You might think this is stupid, or something, or like, ugly, but I kind of like it.” He flicked on the lights and led Sam further into the room, giving John room to come in behind them. “What do you think, Dad?”  
  
John studied [ the crib](http://i97.photobucket.com/albums/l236/lookwhatlovehasdone/a30-3.jpg) for a moment, before nodding. “I like it.”  
  
“Can I look now?” Sam asked impatiently, tapping his foot.  
  
“Go ahead,” Dean told him.  
  
Sam sighed and opened his eyes, blinking a couple times to adjust to the light. Finally, he saw the crib, off to the side, by their bed. “What-- when did--” he took a deep breath and smiled brightly, glancing at Dean then at John. “Wow.” He let go of Dean’s hand and walked over to crib, pushing aside the curtain a bit and looking inside. “It’s so … pretty. I thought you didn’t want anything girly? I mean, this has bows.”  
  
Dean shrugged and walked over to Sam, grasping onto the edge of the crib. “It’s cute. I thought you’d like cute and I don’t think the baby’s going to care.”  
  
Sam chuckled softly then reached up, wiping at his eyes. “Thank you,” he said softly, looking over to Dean, eyes shining bright with tears. “I love it.”  
  
“Yeah?” Dean asked softly. “I’m glad. I wasn’t sure, but you said that I could pick it out and I wanted it to be a surprise.”  
  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I love it.”  
  
Dean glanced over at John, who was leaning against the doorframe, watching them. “Don’t you wanna see it, Dad?”  
  
John smiled then pushed himself off the frame, walking over to the crib. “It’s nice,” John said, examining the crib closer, “green, nice unisex colour.”  
  
Dean snorted and tried not to giggle. “Sex,” he said softly, elbowing John playfully in the side.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed, stepping back. “Oh, Christ.”  
  
Dean just kept on laughing.


End file.
